


To Come Undone

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Poor Dorian, Pre-Trespasser, Recovery, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: On the way back to Skyhold from Tevinter, Dorian is kidnapped and then rescued by his lover, the Iron Bull, or at least by someone who looks like the Iron Bull. Dorian quickly finds himself struggling to hold onto his mind and to resist a face he trusts.Set after the defeat of Corypheus and before Trespasser.





	1. To Come Undone

Dorian was tired, but in overall good spirits as he sat next to the toasty fire of the inn’s tavern with a book lying over his knee and a cup of spiced wine in his hand. He was only a three day ride from Skyhold and after being away for a couple of months, the longest he’d been away since the world was saved, he was anxious to go back to see his friends and reunite with Iron Bull. While it was good to be back in his homeland again, to stroll along the same streets lined with old historic buildings from his childhood, to breathe in the sharp scent of incense from the market, and eat food with heat and flavor, he constantly missed the Iron Bull during the months that he was away.

Tevinter would always be his homeland, but the Iron Bull was rapidly becoming his home.

Dorian and his small group of retainers, which Josephine sent from the Inquisition to escort him, made an unexpected stop for the rest of the day at a large inn only a day’s ride from the base of the Frostback Mountains. They planned to pass by it since they still had plenty daylight, but it was the last place to sleep in a real bed until they made it to Skyhold and everyone in the party was weary from travel. 

He bought a good meal for himself and his retainers, along with the first round of drinks before dismissing them from their duties for the night. Appointed as Tevinter’s ambassador to the Inquisition after the defeat of Corypheus, Dorian was once again bestowed with titles and cash, something he missed more than he liked to admit. 

After dinner, his retainers sought their own entertainment with cards and drink. Dorian wanted to join them, but he was aware that few people wanted to relax with their employer and settled on sitting by the fire on his own.

The inn’s tavern was pleasantly warm after braving the bitter autumn wind and provided a palatable selection of wine for a backwater little Fereldan town, the combination of the two were making Dorian’s eyelids heavy. It was still early in the evening, but Dorian wasn’t surprised by his exhaustion and decided to retire to his room early. If he was of the mind, he could write to Bull about the kind of greeting he was expecting from his lover and send it by raven in the morning.

But as he made his way upstairs to his private room, Dorian found that he was too worn-out to even write a filthy letter to Iron Bull. His legs were unsteady and his head swam as if he drank far more than two glasses of wine. It was a small miracle that he made it to his room without falling over in the hallway and he barely got his boots off before tripping and falling onto the soft bed. Dorian wondered if he was coming down with a fever as his face felt flush from more than just alcohol and his head was beginning to demonstrate its displeasure. 

The room was unusually dark, a servant must have come in to draw the curtains for the evening. Dorian was annoyed that someone had also put out the fire in the small fireplace, leaving the room chilly and without any light. And at that moment, he didn’t trust himself to light anything with his magic.

Groaning as he sat up, Dorian knew that if he didn’t drink some water before sleeping that he’d regret it terribly in the morning. That was when he heard the creak of the floorboards and Dorian whipped his head up, alert and tense. He instantly reached for his magic, hoping to use lightning to stun whoever was in the room, but found his mana pool depleted and it hit him that he wasn’t ill or drunk, but drugged with magebane. The spices in his wine assuredly masked its taste.

Dorian pushed through his haze and quickly scrambled to his feet as his trembling fingers grasped at the dagger on his hip, a gift from Inquisitor Adaar, regretting that his staff was on the other side of the room. Whoever was in the room with him anticipated his move and someone large and fast rushed him, knocking the dagger out of Dorian’s hand and pushed him back onto the bed as Dorian let out a strangled cry for help. 

His attacker quickly straddled his waist, a heavy weight pinned Dorian to the mattress and he was helpless as his attacker grabbed both of his wrists in one hand and held them over Dorian’s head. Not knowing what his attacker’s intentions were, terror filled the mage, which didn’t diminish when a damp, sweet smelling cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose.

Knowing that whatever was soaking the cloth was going to knock him out, Dorian started to thrash, kick out of his legs, and struggle to pry his hands from the large hand gripping his wrists. There was only so long that Dorian could hold his breath and it wasn’t long before he breathed in the cloyingly sweet and medicinal stench of herbs from the cloth. Finally his thrashing died down, his limbs were far too heavy while his head felt too light. The cloth didn’t move from his face, but the hand holding his wrists let go and fingers carded through his hair while someone soothingly shushed his whimpers of fear as he gave into unconsciousness.

\---

Dorian woke up slowly and rather uncomfortably. Sunlight was in his face, hurting his eyes and making his poor head pound and every muscle and joint in his body screamed, like he spent long days riding in an awkward position. And to top it off, his mouth was dry and sour from what tasted like a stale mixture of elfroot potions, vomit, and sleep.

At least the bed was comfortable and the blankets were thick and fluffy, though he couldn’t remember how he got to bed. A pained moan escaped Dorian’s lips as he turned his head away from the sunlight, causing his chin to hit something unyielding and cool around his neck. His fingers grasped at it and cold dread settled in his already churning stomach when he found a metal collar with runes etched into it secured around his throat.

He sat up and the blankets pooled around his waist, revealing Dorian’s state of complete undress. Gathering his wits and looking around him, Dorian noticed that he was in a cramped one room cabin that he had never seen before.

Panic overcame Dorian upon realizing that he had no idea where he was and the collar prevented him from accessing his magic. He’d never been captured by an enemy before, never been collared, and he found that he couldn’t breathe. His chest wheezed as he clawed at the collar, his nails biting into the tender flesh of his throat.

The mattress dipped down behind him, large hands grabbed Dorian’s and lowered them safely into his lap. Then the voice he wanted to hear most said reassuringly, “You’re safe, kadan, you’re safe. I’ve got you. Now breathe for me, kadan, nice and slow. That’s my good boy. Here, drink this.” 

A cool glass pressed against Dorian’s lips and he immediately opened them, thankful for the cold water that washed away the staleness in his mouth.

“Good boy.”

Just the sound of Iron Bull’s voice brought tears of relief to Dorian’s eyes and once he could properly breathe again, he turned in the bed to find Bull sitting there, both worry and fondness evident on his fatigued looking face. Dorian slumped against Bull and his tears fell as Iron Bull wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer, and kissed his forehead.

“Amatus,” Dorian sighed and Bull squeezed him tighter. “Amatus, where are we? What happened?”

“The Inquisitor received rumor of Venatori activity near the Frostbacks with a specific threat to you. I went to meet you at the inn, I was worried and wanted to help escort you back to Skyhold, but you were already taken by the Venatori,” Bull explained, ducking his face into Dorian hair. “I was almost too late.”

“My retainers? Are they safe?”

“Yeah, or at least I think so, they’re the ones who reported you missing the morning after you were taken, but they had already left the inn to look for you when I arrived. Do you remember what happened?”

Dorian started shaking his head, then paused as memories of a struggle, of someone holding him down on the bed floated up in his mind. “A little. Someone was waiting for me in my room. I couldn’t use my magic.” 

“Anything else?” Bull pressed.

“No, nothing at all. How long was I missing?”

“For a few days.”

That wasn’t encouraging to Dorian, he didn’t like that he couldn’t remember his captivity. He squinted at the cabin, it didn’t look like anywhere in or near Skyhold. “Where are we? Why aren’t we at Skyhold?”

“We’re at an old safe house of mine,” Iron Bull answered easily, “I used this place for drops and passing on information to my contacts. You were too weak to make it to Skyhold and most of the Venatori cell is still out there, I just barely rescued you. I also can’t get the collar off of you, so you can’t fight,” he gently touched Dorian’s neck, causing Dorian to shiver. “I sent a raven to let the Inquisitor know where we are, we’ll have to wait it out until reinforcements come.”

More questions flooded Dorian’s head and he was unnerved to be in a Ben-Hassrath safe house. “Is the house still in use?”

“Just by us.” Iron Bull seemed to notice Dorian’s unease. “Hey, I’d never put you in danger, you know that, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know, amatus,” Dorian replied swiftly. “Why didn’t you bring the Chargers or some of Cullen’s men? Why did you come alone?”

Bull shifted at the mention of the Chargers. “The boys are on a job and as I said, the information was just rumors and the Inquisitor didn’t want to spare the resources, so I left on my own to find you.”

Dorian frowned. That didn’t sound like Adaar at all as she was constantly throwing resources at stranger requests than a rumor of Venatori threats. Like saving spirits, tracking down Grey Warden relics, finding books, hunting down amulets to prevent spirit binding that end up being useless, and bags and upon bags of flour for baking cookies that she and Sera would just hurl from the roof. To think that she wouldn’t spare a few men to accompany Bull to follow up on the rumor of a threat on Dorian’s life seemed odd. He was actually more surprised that Adaar didn’t accompany Bull herself, since she was such a busybody.

“Why wouldn’t Adaar give you any men? Did I anger her?” Dorian asked, frantically trying figure out what he might have done to so egregiously offend her. He wrote to her several times while he was back in Tevinter, but nothing of a scandalous or offensive nature.

Iron Bull hesitated for a half a second. “I really don’t know, kadan. You’ll just have to talk to her when we get back.” He stroked Dorian’s hair. “You should take a nap and I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

More sleep was the last thing Dorian wanted, but his body was still sore like he was having the worst hangover of his life. Lying back down, he let Iron Bull tuck him back under the covers, though Bull was in no hurry to leave. He leaned against the headboard and his hand tangled itself in Dorian’s hair. 

Dorian’s mind was racing with what Bull told him, wondering about the threat on his life, being unable to get the collar off, Adaar’s refusal to send anyone with Bull, and their apparent inability to make it back to Skyhold. Whatever happened though, it certainly took a toll on Iron Bull. 

There were more lines on his lover’s gray face, making him look older, and causing guilt to rise up in Dorian for making Bull worry. The more Dorian stared at Bull’s face, the more concerned Dorian became when he spotted the dark circles under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. He was certain that it was no picnic for Bull to run around, trying to find him, and fighting Venatori on his own. 

“Are you ok, amatus?”

Bull’s single eye blinked in surprise and looked down at Dorian. “You’re the one who was kidnapped and hurt, kadan, and you’re asking me if I’m ok?”

“You just … You seem worn out, amatus, I worry about you.”

A warm smile appeared on Bull’s lips. “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?”

Blushing, Dorian buried his face into his pillow. Their usual banter helped to put Dorian at ease and he even managed to forget about the weight of the collar around his neck. “I’ll have none of your slander and lies.”

Dorian reached out and placed his hand on Bull’s stomach, frowning at the white linen shirt that Bull was wearing. It was an odd sight since Bull rarely wore shirts, only when he was forced to by Josephine and Vivienne or when he wore one under his full plate armor. 

“You look weird with a shirt on,” Dorian mumbled grumpily.

“Just trying something new, kadan,” Bull’s smile widened. “Don’t I look more civilized?”

Dorian snorted. “I prefer to have my view of your chest unobstructed.”

The gaze that Iron Bull gave him was filled with both happiness and lust. “Perhaps I’ll give you an unobstructed view later tonight.”

Dorian gave Bull a filthy grin, though he didn’t really feel it. He wanted to be back in Skyhold in their room where they could properly enjoy each other without the threat of being attacked by the Venatori or with a thick metal collar on him. At some point, in midst his troubled thoughts, Dorian must have dozed off, because the next thing he was aware of, Bull was gently shaking his shoulder and helped him sit up with a bowl of spicy ram stew and a cup of tea.

“Could I have some clothes, amatus?” Dorian asked, mindful of his naked state and not eager to spill hot stew on his bare skin.

Iron Bull shook his head. “Yours are wrecked, I haven’t had time to try and salvage them.”

Dorian almost asked for the shirt off of Bull, but decided not to and concentrated on eating. The food was spicier than what Iron Bull usually made when they were on the road, but he was also usually catering to southern palates. Dorian only ate half of his dinner before he had to put his bowl aside and was ready to sleep again. His cheeks were warm and flush, and his limbs became boneless and pliant.

Iron Bull eagerly slipped into the bed with him, strangely still clothed, but Dorian didn’t protest as long as he was in Bull’s embrace. The heat of Bull’s body and the scent of his skin reassured Dorian that, for at least the moment, all was well.

“Tell your amatus what you need,” Bull whispered, his arms wrapped around Dorian’s waist.

There were a lot of things Dorian needed. He needed to remember what happened to him, he needed the Venatori who attacked him killed, he needed some clothes, he needed to be at Skyhold and to find out what was wrong with Adaar.

“Kiss me, amatus?” Dorian settled on that instead, rolling on top of his lover.

The pure joy in Bull’s eye made Dorian’s heart skip a beat. “Anytime, kadan.”

The kiss was hungry and searing, making it seem like they were apart for two years instead of two months. Bull was intent on exploring every inch of Dorian’s mouth with his tongue and kept a firm grasp on the mage’s hair, not letting him break the kiss for several minutes. His lips practically throbbed when Bull released him from the kiss and Dorian unconsciously ground his hips into Bull’s, already half hard, but too exhausted to do anything about it. A growl rose up from Iron Bull and he grabbed at the mage’s ass, but Dorian was already drifting off, his head pillowed on Bull’s chest.

“Later, amatus,” Dorian slurred, his eyelids fluttering shut.

A breathless chuckle escaped from Bull. “Alright, kadan, later.”

\---

Gray light from the dawn roused Dorian from his uneasy sleep. While his body had shut down, his brain kept on going and relived the short, terrifying moments when he was attacked. Parts that he hadn’t remembered the night before became clearer in his dreams. The weight of his attacker’s body against his own, the smell of the cloth held against his face, and the gentle fingers in his hair before he passed out.

Dorian pressed himself closer to Bull’s side, who was still snoring through the early morning. Without his magic, Dorian was helpless in a way he never experienced before, but he was safe as long as Iron Bull was with him.

Sometime during the night, Dorian’s hand worked its way under Iron Bull’s shirt and he didn’t remove it when he woke up as he enjoyed the sensation of their skin touching. It wasn’t often that Dorian was awake before Bull, but when he was, he liked tracing the lines of Bull’s muscles, the curve of his stomach, and the pattern of his scars. Dorian moved his fingers carefully over Iron Bull’s skin, knowing exactly how firmly he could touch his lover without waking him up. 

He traced over memorized lines of muscle and the softness around Bull’s belly. His fingertips crawled along scars and Dorian tried to recall all of the zealously told stories that came with them. There were a couple scars that Dorian couldn’t remember and he wondered what kind of mischief Iron Bull and his Chargers were up to while he was away. As his hand crept up Bull’s torso, Dorian encountered a large, jagged scar under Bull’s ribs that alarmed him. 

From the size of the scar, it was a grievous injury and it had to have happened recently as there was no way that Dorian would have missed it. Dorian was immediately upset that no one thought to inform him that Bull had been injured while he was away. If Dorian was told, he would have departed from Tevinter immediately to be at Bull’s side as he recovered.

It didn’t make sense though, Dorian thought, the wound was long healed over and its texture was similar to Bull’s older scars. The wound wasn’t healed with magic, Dorian was sure of it, otherwise the scar would’ve been a lot smaller and not as rough. Even Dalish, who wasn’t apt at healing magic, wouldn’t have left such a mark behind.

Slowly and silently, Dorian untangled himself from Iron Bull and really looked at his lover. There was a smattering of white to Iron Bull’s stubble that wasn’t there before, the lines on his face were too deep and ingrained to be caused from mere worry, and there was a small chip on Bull’s left horn that Dorian couldn’t remember and he knew Bull’s horns like the back of his own hand.

Dorian reexamined everything that Bull said the previous day. The story that he came to find Dorian alone, that Adaar wouldn’t provide people to follow up on a rumor about the Venatori, that it was too dangerous to go back to Skyhold, and that Iron Bull went to the inn looking for Dorian. The last one was what made Dorian pause, he didn’t tell Iron Bull that he would be staying at the inn and Dorian himself didn’t know that he was going to stay there until the group decided to make the detour the day of. 

It was plausible that his retainers sent word to Skyhold that he was missing, but it didn’t add up with the timeline of Bull’s story.

He remembered parts of his abduction and the more he thought about it, the sicker he felt. The large hand easily holding both of his wrists, the body straddling his, the fingers carding through his hair, they were all painfully familiar. A member of the Venatori would not have been so kind in subduing him.

After wiping his damp eyes, Dorian quietly slipped out of the bed, years of practice of leaving lovers’ beds undetected coming in handy. A quick look of the one room cabin didn’t reveal where his clothes or his boots were, but he did find an extra shirt in a pile of gear near the bed and slipped it on. He also grabbed a dagger from the pack on the floor, slowly sliding the blade out from a side pocket as to not jostle anything. He was tempted to take everything, but he was too concerned about the noise.

The sound of the door opening and closing was far too loud to Dorian, but he didn’t dare look back as he slipped out of the cabin. Outside was significantly colder than inside the snug cabin, the ground was frosted and hard under Dorian’s bare feet and the wind tore through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt. He wouldn’t make it far before hypothermia would overtake him, that knowledge making Dorian keenly aware of how vulnerable he was without proper clothing and his magic.

Looking around, Dorian could see that the cabin was in a small clearing without any other structures or signs of civilization in sight. The scenery was discouraging, the cabin was situated up in a set of hills that Dorian couldn’t identify and surrounded by a lush green forest with one overgrown trail leading down the hill and into the woods. Thankfully he saw a tiny barn a short walk away on the other side of the clearing and made his way towards it, hoping to find a horse. He was shivering by the time he reached the structure, but he found it was worth the effort.

“Thank the Maker,” Dorian muttered at the sight of a large brown horse inside the barn, along with all of its riding gear. The horse was definitely not Iron Bull’s mount, a huge blond Fereldan mare he called Daisy, and Dorian had never known Bull to willingly travel without his beloved horse. 

He didn’t have much time. Putting the dagger down, Dorian started getting the horse ready to ride until the squeak of rusty hinges alerted Dorian to the fact that he was no longer alone. Dropping the saddle, Dorian picked the dagger back up and faced the Qunari standing several paces away and blocking the only exit out of the barn.

“I suggest wearing a pair of pants if you want to go horseback riding,” the man wearing his lover’s face said with a lazy grin.

“Who are you?” Dorian demanded, nervously clutching the weapon. 

“You know who I am, kadan,” the imposter said lightly. “Why don’t you put down the dagger and we’ll talk inside.”

The Qunari took a step towards him, causing Dorian to stumble backwards till his back hit the rough surface of the wall. His body shook, he couldn’t win in a fight against a fully grown Qunari without his magic or a staff, but he wouldn’t be taken quietly, even if he dreaded the confrontation. 

“Stay back,” his voice cracked.

“You’re shivering, kadan, come back inside and warm up by the fire.” The imposter took another step forward.

“Don’t call me that!” Dorian snapped as he raised his weapon. “I told you to stay back.”

A soft smile appeared on the man’s face, looking fonder than anyone who was being threatened with a blade should. “You’re always so fiery, kadan,” the man said affectionately before he suddenly closed the distance between him and Dorian.

The movement startled Dorian and he tried to lash out with the dagger in the way Adaar taught him, but he was too inexperienced and his captor was too skilled. Dorian could easily kill demons and men alike with a staff or polearm without having to use his magic, but even then he could keep them at a distance and wasn’t used to close quarter fighting. It also didn’t help that his attacker had the same face of his lover, making Dorian hesitate and giving the Qunari the chance to easily knock the dagger from Dorian’s hand. With the Qunari so close, Dorian didn’t have enough room to throw a punch or kick and he soon found himself restrained in a tight embrace.

“You’re not getting away, we both know that. So let’s go inside and talk,” the imposter said in an infuriatingly reasonable tone.

“I’m done listening to you,” Dorian snarled.

“Dorian, you can walk back to the cabin with me or I can carry you.”

In the end, Dorian chose the dignity of walking, though his bare feet protested as he slowly walked across the cold and rocky ground. He also felt less dignified by the fact that the Qunari maintained a firm grip on the back of Dorian’s neck, right above the blighted collar he was wearing. It only served to remind Dorian of how powerless he was. His captor didn’t let go of him once they entered the cabin and steered Dorian to a chair next to the fireplace. The imposter kneeled in front of him to take a look at his feet, keeping a firm hold on Dorian’s legs to discourage him from kicking the man in the face.

“I should have carried you,” the Qunari chastised himself as he carefully poked at a shallow cut on Dorian’s left heel. He quietly cleaned Dorian’s feet with a warm washcloth and applied a salve to the cut. “There, that should heal up nicely. Now, will you promise not to do anything else stupid?”

Dorian bristled at the question. “What do you think?”

“You do enjoy being difficult,” the man chuckled before standing up, lifting Dorian out of the chair and all but tossed him on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Dorian demanded, but he soon got his answer when the Qunari grabbed his left hand and hauled it up to the headboard, securing his wrist to it with a manacle. The iron shackle fit firmly around his wrist and there was a soft lining inside it that prevented it from cutting into Dorian’s skin, however that was the last thing Dorian was worried about as he began to frantically tug at it.

“You’re just going to hurt yourself, kadan.” 

Climbing onto the bed, his captor gathered Dorian up in his arms and held him to keep Dorian from struggling. Dorian silently cursed his body as it automatically relaxed against the warm chest he was pressed against, the scent of the Qunari soothing him. The imposter felt so much like Iron Bull, but Dorian refused to believe that this person was his lover. The differences were subtle, but they were there and too many for Dorian to ignore.

“Who are you?” Dorian asked, his words muffled by the man’s shirt. “You’re not a demon.”

The man shuddered and laughed at the same time. “I really hope I’m not, but how do you figure that?”

“A demon wouldn’t be so elaborate, wouldn’t go through all this trouble. And the differences are too physical, the problem with envy demons imitating humans is usually the personality and memories, not appearance. So, who are you if not the Iron Bull or a demon?”

“I’m your amatus.”

“I think we both know you’re not,” Dorian retorted and the man only held Dorian tighter. Drawing in a ragged breath, Dorian started, “Adaar once told me that after her appearance in Val Royeaux, before I joined the Inquisition, that Fiona, or who she thought was Fiona, approached her and invited her to Redcliffe. When Adaar went to go meet the rebel mages, Fiona had no idea what she was talking about.” 

A rough palm slid up Dorian’s arm, a comforting gesture that was all too familiar.

Closing his eyes, Dorian steeled himself and continued, “After we went into the future together, Adaar hypothesized that the Fiona who approached her in Val Royeaux came from a different time, an alternate time, to try and steer Adaar towards the mages. I didn’t think that was plausible and with Alexius locked up and everyone in Skyhold squeamish about time magic, I never had the chance to study it. Now I’m wishing I had.”

The imposter didn’t confirm or deny anything Dorian said, but praised him, “You’re so smart, kadan.”

“Of course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you suddenly decided to wear shirts? That I wouldn’t see that chip in your horns or that giant scar?”

“I wanted to wait to explain it to you, for you to recover before telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” Outrage seeped into Dorian. “Were there any Venatori to begin with? Or did you just think it’d be fun to drug and kidnap me?”

“I regret having to do that,” the Qunari had the nerve to sound sorry.

“You wanted to talk, so talk. Though I guess then the question isn’t so much ‘Who are you?’ and more ‘Where or when do you come from?’”

\---

_Hissrad could have died without regret. He could have betrayed Lavellan, the Inquisition, his friends, and his kadan to the Qun without regret if he had died. He didn’t die though, his body was stubborn and strong, and the staff blade didn’t sink in far enough into his flesh to be immediately fatal. So instead of dying without regret, Hissrad was forced to live with it._

_He thought about being reeducated again, to scrub his mind of the Chargers, his former boss and friends, and his kadan, and reemerge with new purpose within the Qun. However the thought of erasing Dorian from his memories repulsed him. Even though Hissrad raised his greatsword against Dorian, he couldn’t strike him, even as he caught Varric in the gut with the pommel, even as he gave the Seeker a new scar on her face, even as he slammed Lavellan to the ground._

_He betrayed the Inquisition, but he still loved his kadan and fervently hoped that he wouldn’t live past the day when he came through that door on the command of Viddasala and attacked his friends. But he did. He lived many more days afterwards._

_The memory of the twisted expression of grief, despair, and rage on Dorian’s face as he stabbed Hissrad with his staff blade wouldn’t leave him. The sobs and bitter words after the battle still rang in Hissrad’s ears. The Chargers’ lives didn’t sway Hissrad to become Tal-Vashoth, but his grief and Dorian’s despair did._

_Hissrad wandered by himself for a long time and scrounged whatever information he could on Dorian, not too difficult considering his status as a Magister with connections to the Inquisition, the Divine Victoria’s new honor guard. From all accounts he heard, Magister Pavus was a man with virtually no personal life and driven solely by his work. There were countless attempts on Dorian’s life and close calls as he worked to bring about reform to his homeland, but he made no effort to heighten security at his estate or increase the number of guards that followed him._

_Magister Pavus was also known to visit Kirkwall from time to time, enjoying the company of the viscount and other companions from his time with the Inquisition. Hissrad couldn’t travel unnoticed into Tevinter, but he could get by in Kirkwall._

_He followed Dorian around the city-state from a safe distance, knowing that his size and horns made him stick out in the crowds. During his visit, Dorian didn’t go anywhere special, he visited a few shops and taverns, but mostly he walked aimlessly through the streets without a single guard or servant. One day he and Varric went to a tavern together where, Hissrad found out, several former members of the Inquisition were waiting for them. Sera, Thom Rainier, Cullen, Dagna, and Scout Harding all let out a hearty cheer at the sight of Dorian and Varric._

_Finding a spot in a dark corner where he could observe them without notice, Hissrad watched his kadan and former companions drink and catch up. He couldn’t hear what they were saying and Hissrad was always crap at reading lips, but he could easily read Dorian’s body language. His kadan leaned away from the group, he quickly withdrew from physical contact, kept his arms crossed, his smiles were strained, and he never laughed. It grieved Hissrad that he was the cause of such behavior and he ached to touch Dorian, to make his smile genuine, and hear him laugh._

_After a couple pints of beer though, Dorian loosened up and Hissrad could see that his body was tilting towards Cullen. Cullen’s hand rested casually along the back of Dorian’s chair, careful not to touch, but close enough that Dorian had to know it was there. And Dorian’s smiles became easier, shyer, and mostly directed towards the former commander._

_Hissrad didn’t know how long he sat there staring at Dorian, but when the group broke apart and went their separate ways, he was compelled to follow Dorian. He’d been tailing Dorian during his entire visit, but now he wanted to speak to him, to beg for forgiveness, to kiss him one last time. Dorian left the tavern alone, going in the opposite direction of Varric’s house and towards one of the nicer hotels in Kirkwall, and in the direction that Cullen departed in five minutes before. The street was mostly empty with plenty of alleyways, giving Hissrad the opportunity to speak to Dorian in private._

_“Don’t.”_

_Hissrad froze and found Cole next to him._

_“Don’t. You’ll kill him.”_

_Hissrad flinched. “I’m not going to hurt Dorian again.”_

_Cole shook his head, his eyes hidden by the wide brim of his hat. “You want Dorian to be happy, so you need to leave. If he knows you’re alive, it’ll kill him. He holds onto the hurt so fiercely, grief, anger, betrayal, shame, all twisted together, only soothed by the fact that he corrected his mistake, he killed you.”_

_That caught Hissrad off guard. “Dorian’s glad he killed me?”_

_“No. Not like that. He grieves for you, for the love he once had. But you’re gone and can’t hurt him anymore, it protects him. If you’re alive, then you can hurt him and he can’t take it, he won’t survive it. Then Cullen will kill you.”_

_All of the words on Hissrad’s tongue dried up at that last sentence._

_“It’s taken so long to heal, to trust,” Cole continued mournfully. “Scar on his mouth that pulls when he smiles. Warm amber eyes watching. Strong hands that hold, care, protect._ ‘I haven’t cared for anyone since—’ _Breath stutters, heart pounds, those warm eyes won’t leave his._ ‘It’s ok, I won’t hurt you, I’ll protect you.’”

_Hissrad didn’t need to hear anything more. He understood. It was too late, he already damaged Dorian in ways a lover was never supposed to. There was no way to go back prevent his betrayal, to make sure he never hurt Dorian to begin with. Hissrad wondered if that was to be Dorian’s fate, to be betrayed by those he loved and trusted, and if there was any way to end the cycle._

_“I’ll remain dead then.”_

_Dorian needed to heal and if Hissrad was alive, then his wounds would remain open and bleeding until there was nothing left._

\---

“You came to prevent your own betrayal?” 

“No, not really. I doubt that there is much I could say to convince myself otherwise, but I can protect you from being hurt in the first place.”

“But nothing you said makes any sense. Why would Bull even work with the Qun? He’s been Tal-Vashoth for over a year.”

“I figured he might be, since you mentioned the Chargers. Inquisitor Lavellan told me to save the alliance and I assume your Inquisitor Adaar told me to save the Chargers.”

“Of course she did! She loves the Chargers. Honestly, so much is different between our two worlds that the events you described may never even come to pass. Now, as you can see, I won’t be betrayed, so would you be so kind and unshackle me from the bed?”

Hissrad made no move to either let go of Dorian or unchain him. “You don’t know that, you don’t know that he won’t betray you. He might even kill you to get back into the Qun. I can’t allow that.”

“You don’t know that either!” Dorian insisted. “How did you even get here? I certainly didn’t send you.”

“You said Alexius was locked up, the Alexius of my time was put to work for the Inquisition and was still working on his time magic on the sly. I happened to discreetly borrow him and persuaded him to help me.”

“Maker, Alexius sent you? You’re not even a mage and I doubt even I could unravel what years of research Alexius had to figure this trick out, how do you expect to get back?”

“I don’t.”

That really didn’t bode well for Dorian. “Do you expect me run away with you? Disappear with you and spend the rest of our days on some Free Marcher beach, leaving behind Bull and my entire life?”

Hissrad frowned and shook his head, “No, not without convincing.”

“And why don’t you ‘convince’ your own Dorian?”

“I hurt him too much, just knowing that I’m alive would destroy him. But you still love your Bull, you can be convinced.”

“I loathe to ask,” Dorian choked, “but what you mean by convincing?”

“I'm guessing that you know about reeducation.”

Blind panic consumed Dorian, he couldn't see past the tears in his eyes and struggled against Hissrad’s grip, but it did no good. The thought of having his mind hollowed out and being reduced to a mindless husk horrified Dorian beyond words. He remembered barely escaping his own father’s plans of altering him, to be made compliant, and felt the bitter betrayal of having his mind broken by a deranged version of his lover.

“No, please no. Please don’t take my mind. Katoh,” he sobbed, “katoh.”

“Ah, kadan,” Hissrad murmured, having the gall to rub Dorian’s back and rock him. “I'm not going to break your mind, I promise. Just rewrite a few things in the margins, to make you accept me.”

Dorian closed his eyes, fat tears of fear running down his cheeks. “No, no … You can’t replace Bull.”

“Don’t worry, kadan, you'll still have your amatus.”

Hissrad ended up taking away the shirt Dorian stole and chained him to the bed. At first, Dorian recoiled and assumed the worst. “I'm not going to force myself on you, kadan,” Hissrad stroked his hair and pulled the covers over Dorian’s naked body. “I’ll wait until you're ready, when you willingly prepare yourself and beg for me.”

Dorian’s stomach turned, not from disgust, but from worry that he would get to that point soon enough. 

At the very least, Hissrad’s reeducation proved to be slow and gentle, showing his unwillingness to harm Dorian. Hissrad could have easily used pain and pleasure to quickly break Dorian, but he didn’t. Instead his touches were innocent, keeping his hands above Dorian’s waist as much as possible. He could have also forced the drugs down Dorian’s throat, but it was obvious that Hissrad didn’t want to treat Dorian roughly and took to lacing his food and water. Though it meant that that Dorian ate and drank as little as he could without provoking Hissrad into force feeding him. 

It gave Dorian the benefit of time to try to think of a chance to escape, as dismal as those chances looked. Dorian never left Hissrad’s sight, even humiliatingly to wash and use the chamber pot, reinforcing Hissrad’s complete control over the situation. While Hissrad kept Dorian warm by providing him with blankets, he gave Dorian no clothing and even shredding his own shirts now that he didn't need to wear one to cover his scar. Dorian knew enough that Hissrad was trying to strip Dorian of every possible defense, leaving him even more helpless and more likely to give in.

\---

Mealtimes filled Dorian with both dread and treacherous relief. All of his food and water was drugged, making him more accepting of Hissrad’s words and soft touches. Dorian hated how sluggish and fuzzy he became and how readily he ate up anything Hissrad said, but there was also a terrible relief when the anticipation was gone and the drugs freed him of his fears.

Hunger and weariness persuaded Dorian to eat half of his dinner, stopping when he could feel the effects of the potions fog his mind. He sat the bowl down on the side table he could just barely reach from the bed.

“Eat a couple more bites.”

He shook his head.

“Dorian, you hardly ate lunch.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’d eat more if you weren’t drugging me all the damn time.”

Hissrad was unmoved and picked up the bowl, scooping a piece of stewed meat with the spoon. Dorian’s jaw became tight, but he knew that one way or another that he was going to end up eating the couple of bites Hissrad insisted on.

“I’ll feed myself,” Dorian growled, but Hissrad didn’t give back the bowl. He spoon fed Dorian until the mage’s indignant anger melted away to unhappy resignation.

Dinner was always the worst. It was his third dose of the day and by the evening Dorian was exhausted from trying to keep himself together. He fought the conditioning throughout the day, calling his captor Hissrad, refusing every touch, answering questions with peevish remarks, and concentrating on the large scar right below Hissrad’s ribcage, reminding Dorian that the Qunari in the room was not his amatus. But by the end of the day, he was at his worst and most receptive to Hissrad’s manipulations.

“What do you need, kadan? Tell your amatus.”

Dorian slowly blinked up at Hissrad after finishing his meal, who was cradling Dorian’s head in his lap cupping and rubbed his thumb along Dorian’s bottom lip. He blinked again and saw Iron Bull, relaxed and happy, sitting on their bed in their shared quarters in Skyhold.

“Amatus?” Dorian didn’t recall returning to Skyhold, but it hardly mattered that since he was with Iron Bull. He melted into the touch. “I missed you, Bull,” his words came out slurred.

“I missed you too, Dorian. You’ve had a long journey, let your amatus take care of you.”

It was like drowning in warm water, letting his head slip under a sea of sensation and accepting the peace that was offered to him. The slide of rough palms against his skin, whispers of praise and love, and lips peppering kisses along his face. He moved his arm, wanting to hook his hand behind Bull’s neck to bring him closer, but his arm stopped short. A chain clanked loudly in Dorian’s ear and his whole being jerked.

Bull was gone and there was only Hissrad.

“No!” Dorian snapped. “Katoh!”

“It’s ok, it’s ok, you’re safe.” Hissrad petted his forehead.

“No, no, no.”

“You’re safe,” Hissrad repeated until Dorian believed him and went limp in his arms, letting the cycle repeat itself.

\---

Mornings were not much better. At night Hissrad chained Dorian’s ankles to the bed, being considerate enough to worry that Dorian’s arm might get too cold or uncomfortable while he slept. Hissrad then crawled into bed next to Dorian, maneuvering the mage so he was halfway draped on top of him. Dorian couldn’t escape the feel and smell of Hissrad’s skin on his own, couldn’t get away from the heat rolling off of his body, and he responded in the predictable fashion every morning.

Dorian woke up wrapped in familiar arms, pressed against a strong chest, and achingly hard.

“Amatus,” Dorian murmured, barely awake and wonderfully comfortable. He shifted his hips to rut against Bull, not an unusual way for him to wake up with his amatus in his bed.

“Kadan,” a rumble came below him and a hand stroked his lower back.

The warm light of the morning sun hit Dorian on the left side of his face, making him frown in confusion. The window in his room faced west and the direct sunlight didn’t hit his room until the afternoon. This wasn’t his room.

Dorian recoiled, flinging himself to the empty side of the bed as far as the chains would allow.

Hissrad made no comment, but got his eye full of Dorian’s arousal. He left the cabin, presumably to feed the horse in the barn and to give Dorian a sliver of privacy to take care of business. But Dorian refused to touch himself and instead clutched onto the blankets as he buried his face into the pillow to weep.

\---

When Dorian was clear headed, Hissrad read out loud to him from one of Varric’s novels and tried to play mental games of chess with him like he once did with Solas. They quickly needed to switch checkers, the potions Hissrad kept feeding Dorian were making him more confused by the day and he couldn’t keep track of all the pieces. Dorian suspected that he wasn’t keeping up with the checker games as well, but Hissrad didn’t say anything about it. 

Dorian also watched Hissrad as he moved around the little cabin. He made note of where Hissrad kept the keys to the shackles, where Hissrad’s weapons were, where the knives for cooking were kept, when he left the cabin to feed the horse or get water, and how he limped slightly with the rain. One thing that Iron Bull taught him was to observe, to seek out any weakness or opening that might present itself to him.

Sometimes Dorian would close his eyes, pretending that he was only ignoring Hissrad, but was actually trying to reach his magic. It quickly became apparent that the collar kept him from casting, but it didn’t muffle his other senses connected to the Fade. Dorian sensed a thunderstorm approach before he ever heard or saw it, the nearby lightning tickling his skin as it always did, raising his spirits with that knowledge. So he reached, trying to sense the presence of magic nearby, but came up empty.

And when Dorian felt particularly sharp, he talked. He always enjoyed the sound of his own voice and his natural curiosity of Hissrad kept his mind active, instead of stuck in the sluggish mess of potions and confused emotions and sensations. He talked to keep sane.

\---

“Hissrad, be a dear and unshackle me.”

“Are your limbs getting sore, kadan?”

“Yes, I do fancy a bit of a walk to stretch my legs. Maybe to the nearest town?”

“Another day. And I told you to call me Bull.”

“But Hissrad is more fitting, I’ve been told it means liar.”

A rueful smile tugged on Hissrad’s lips. “That’s ok, kadan, you’ll call me Bull soon enough.”

\---

“Why did you attack him?”

“I didn’t, I couldn’t. I beat up the rest of the party, but I couldn’t strike you. I was glad when you stabbed me, before I might have hurt you.”

“You mean him, not me. Two different people.”

“Semantics.”

“He should have sank the blade in deeper to finish the job.”

Hissrad only grinned and touched the scar under his ribs, given to him by his own Dorian. “Yeah, he should have, but he was always gentle under all that bluster. When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to gut a man with your staff blade.”

“Can I use you as practice? Right now?”

A light chuckle accompanied Hissrad’s reply, “Perhaps later, kadan. Are you ready for some lunch?”

“Oh, you mean my sandwich seasoned with Qunari mind altering potions? Yay.”

\---

“You ignore me when I say katoh. Did you not have a watchword with your Dorian?”

“I did, it was the same.”

“Then I would very much like it if you continued to honor it. It took so long for Bull to get me to trust him to actually stop, I’d hate to see all of his hard work undone.”

Rough fingertips traced Dorian’s jawline. “I promise I will, but right now I can’t.”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Get someone to trust in you so completely that they won’t see it coming when you betray them,” Dorian spat. “Say katoh and I’ll stop, no questions asked, he said once. Now he says, I can’t.”

“Kadan—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Dorian could only imagine that the bitterness and betrayal growing inside him was only a fraction of what his counterpart experienced when Hissrad drew his sword and pointed it at the mage.

\---

“Tell me about your Inquisitor. Lavellan, was it? That sounds rather elvish.”

“She was always in her own head, angry from the way humans treated elves and looking for a way to elevate her clan. Probably why she liked Solas so much, he was all about ancient elves and how great they were. Then he dumped her after they fucked.”

“She was romantically involved with Solas!? Ugh, that is a mental image I could have lived without. Do erase that as you’re rooting around in my head, will you?” 

“Be thankful you didn’t have to actually see it.”

“Some much more unfortunate version of myself that did and that knowledge is scarring enough, but it makes me even happier that Sera is Adaar’s beau.”

“Sera? That’s great! She and Lavellan could hardly stand each other, Lavellan was too elfy she said and Sera didn’t revere her ancestors enough for Lavellan. Then the Inquisitor helped Vivienne become Divine and Sera pretty much stopped talking to her.”

“Maker, your Vivienne is the Divine? Your timeline is worse than I thought.”

\---

“Lavellan banished the Wardens? Maker, what happens if the Blight breaks out in Orlais? From how I understand your world, I half expect that it’s already overrun with Darkspawn.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”

“Did your Inquisitor do anything not incredibly stupid and dangerous?”

“She was … good to some people. She tried to help you reconcile with your father even though it was a shit show, but she meant well. She also stopped Cullen from taking lyrium, taught Cole to be human, and helped Cassandra rebuild the Seekers.”

“And she let the Chargers die.”

“There’s that.”

\---

“So Cullen and I? I must say that I’m impressed, the Commander was always a catch, though I can’t imagine myself retiring to some Fereldan farm.”

“Makes me wonder if you always had a thing for Cullen,” Hissrad grunted.

“I certainly did and how could I not? He’s precious and wonderfully fun to admire, surprising that I never had a hint that he was so inclined in my way. Perhaps it’s another quirk of your time. I do wonder what kind of lover he is.”

“I’m sure that Cullen treats you better than I did.”

“You’ve always treated me well, amatus.”

It took far too long for Dorian to realize his mistake.

\---

“Are you hungry, kadan?”

Dorian was starving. “No.”

“Dorian, you need to eat more.”

“Maybe I would eat more if you didn’t poison everything. Also, I’m tired to eating ram.”

“I’d kill a deer for variety, but they’re faster and I’m shit at hunting.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before kidnapping me and taking me to the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, kadan. Here, have a snack. It’s just an apple, see, nothing in it.”

A slice of sweet fruit pressed against Dorian’s lips. Hunger got the better of Dorian and he opened his lips and let the slice of apple slide into his mouth. Halfway through the apple, Dorian was licking the juice off of the fingers feeding him.

“That’s my good boy.”

\---

“Amatus, we should take tea in the gardens this afternoon. I brought that tea you like so much from Tevinter. I think I left it in my trunk. Where … Where did I leave my trunk? I don’t remember seeing it ...”

“I’ll find it for you later, kadan. Have you ever considered making a visit to Antiva with me? Get away for a while.”

“Oh, that does sound lovely. I would like to stretch out on a white sand beach and have you oil me down while servants bring me fruity drinks.”

“And I’d like to take you there and give you what you need. You work too hard, the Inquisitor can spare you.”

“Hm, I do work rather hard, I certainly deserve ... “ Dorian trailed off as he looked around him.

This wasn’t Skyhold and this wasn’t the Iron Bull. 

\---

Dorian knew that he was losing the Iron Bull. As the days slipped by, he was calling Hissrad by amatus or Bull too frequently, he became confused more often, and he found himself staring up at Hissrad’s face instead of the ugly scar below his ribs. It wouldn’t be long before Dorian completely gave in and accepted Hissrad as the Iron Bull, and from the way Hissrad smiled, he also knew.

His resolve might have been strengthened if Hissrad was cruel, but he never as much said a cross word to Dorian. Instead he smothered the mage with warmth and patience, acting too much like Iron Bull with his easy smiles and letting every insult roll off his back. It bothered Dorian greatly.

But a small hope blossomed in Dorian one day when he tried to reach his magic again. He couldn’t cast, but he sensed a small inkling of fire being pulled from the Fade and bursting into life. It was too far away for Dorian to be able to tell the style of spell being used, to tell if it was Dalish out there in the woods, but it gave him some much needed hope. It encouraged him to pull together the partially formed plan in his head.

There was only one way Dorian could think of that would convince Hissrad to unchain him completely and while he was repulsed by the idea, he didn’t have much of a choice. In the morning, Dorian almost always woke up erect and while Hissrad wouldn’t touch him, Dorian saw the hunger and longing. All he had to do was take advantage of it.

\---

“Amatus,” Dorian moaned softly, letting out quiet noises half faked and half real as he rubbed his hardness against Hissrad’s hip.

Hissrad was already awake that morning, but hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, and Dorian figured there was no better time than the present. The Qunari carefully eased away from Dorian, which was what he was afraid of.

“Amatus,” Dorian whined, thrusting his hips in the space that Hissrad vacated, and opened his eyes to peek at Hissrad, who had a mixture of surprise and desire on his face. “You left me chained last night,” Dorian pouted at the manacles on his ankles. “That wasn’t nice, but perhaps you’ll make it up to me this morning?”

“Kadan.” The word was rough with lust.

“Unchain me,” Dorian urged.

Hissrad’s hands twitched, but he didn’t move towards the key.

“Unchain me, Bull,” Dorian repeated, a sleepy smile curling on his lips. “I need my legs for what I’m going to do.”

Hissrad finally obeyed, reaching for the keys hidden in his boot and unlocked the shackles, setting the ring of keys carelessly down on the side table. He snatched one of Dorian’s freed legs and pressed a kiss on the inside of Dorian’s ankle and started working his way up.

Dorian laughed, his tone light and teasing as he pulled his leg away and said, “None of that. I’m going to punish you for leaving me shackled all night, I’m going to make you watch.”

It seemed that Hissrad was ensnarled by Dorian’s ruse, because he kept his hands to himself despite the deep growl that rumbled from his chest. That was good, because Dorian wasn’t sure what would happen if Hissrad touched him, other than that any hope of escaping would be completely gone.

“Pass me the oil, amatus. The jasmine scented one.”

Hissrad hastily grabbed a vial of oil from his pack and pressed it into Dorian’s waiting hand. “We only have unscented left.”

“I suppose I’ll make do,” Dorian sighed dramatically as he coated his fingers, making Hissrad smile.

He propped himself up on the pillows and spread his legs wide for Hissrad to see as he teased his entrance before pressing inside and stretching himself. His head fell back with a groan at the pleasure building up in him, the satisfying stretch of his hole that warred with the ache and longing for Iron Bull. He avoided going in too deep and touching his erection, though he made it look like he was doing that on purpose, like he was tormenting himself for Hissrad.

“What do you need from your amatus?” Hissrad asked.

“Watch me, amatus, watch me,” Dorian panted as his hips rocked down onto his fingers and he whined sharply as he accidentally brushed his prostate.

Dorian struggled to stay present, to keep his mind on his plan and not give into his body’s urges as his mind blurred the lines between Hissrad and Iron Bull. It would be simple to fall into the fantasy that he constructed for Hissrad and convince himself that this morning was just like any morning Dorian had with Iron Bull. Whenever his eyes closed, the cabin fell away and Dorian was back in his room in Skyhold with Bull sitting on the bed, watching Dorian perform for him. He forced his eyes open and tried to dig his heels into reality.

“Touch yourself,” Hissrad commanded breathlessly.

Without thinking, Dorian obeyed, his hand closing around his cock and starting stroking it slowly.

“I want to take you in my mouth and then lick you open.”

“Maker, yes, Bull,” Dorian answered mindlessly and he saw Bull in front of him, watching Dorian with his single, dark eye.

Hissrad moved closer towards his spread legs, lowering his head towards Dorian’s leaking cock and Dorian managed to pull out of his fog of pleasure long enough to see both Hissrad and his window of opportunity. As fast as he could, Dorian slammed his knee into Hissrad’s face and as Hissrad snapped upright in shock, he kicked out and his foot made a strong and solid connection with his captor’s crotch. It was enough to make Hissrad howl loudly and stunned him to give Dorian time to scramble out of the bed, snatch the ring of keys from the table and a dagger from Hissrad’s pack, and he fled the cabin.

This time Dorian didn’t try to get the horse, it would be the first place Hissrad would look for him, and he had no idea how long he had before Hissrad recovered. Instead he headed straight for the woods, running in the direction where he felt the inkling of magic a couple days ago, hoping that he would find someone, anyone. 

Adrenaline kept Dorian moving as the forest undergrowth ripped up his feet and low hanging branches tore at his exposed arms. Dorian felt his involuntary idleness almost immediately as he lungs burned, screaming for more air, and his legs ached from the strain, but his brain yelled at him to keep moving, to put as much distance between him and Hissrad as possible.

He didn’t know how long he had been running when his foot caught itself on a raised root, wrenching both Dorian’s right knee and ankle and sent him face first into the ground and slammed his knee into a stone hidden by a layer of dead leaves. The suddenness of the fall gave Dorian a few seconds before the pain in his leg eclipsed everything, making Dorian to bite his lip until it bled to stop himself from crying out. Tears of both agony and frustration obscured his sight, and it took several precious minutes for Dorian to calm down enough to think. He lost the dagger, it disappeared into the forest’s dense foliage, but he still had the keys.

Dorian needed a place to hide. The hollow log a few feet from him looked too obvious, as did a large cropping of stones, but he thought that the small gathering of shrubbery near a downed tree in front of him might work. It looked too small to hide a grown man, but Dorian was sure he could conceal himself there. Moving was slow and painful work, it was virtually impossible to put weight on his ankle, and Dorian did his best to cover his tracks. There was no use in hiding if he left a clear trail to where he was hidden. 

As long as he pressed his body half under the fallen tree, Dorian was well out of sight. Once he was settled, another concern popped up as he began to shiver from both the cold and the pain in his leg and feet. If he didn’t find someone soon or if Hissrad didn’t recapture him, Dorian didn’t doubt that he may very well freeze to death in the middle of the night.

Looking down at the ring of keys in his hand, Dorian hoped that one of them belonged to the collar around his neck. With his magic, he stood a chance of surviving this, he could fight Hissrad if necessary, fight off wild animals, build a fire to keep warm, or send a signal flare. He slowly tested each key in the lock of the collar, trying to keep the noise and movement to a minimum. When none worked, he tried them again. And again.

When none seemed to work, Dorian found the largest key on the ring and used it to saw at one of the runes, hoping that if it was damaged enough it would give him access to a little of his magic. Each time he heard a noise, Dorian froze and waited before sawing away to the collar. Surprisingly, Dorian could feel a trickle of his magic and he nearly cried in joy when he could warm one hand and make a tiny spark of electricity. 

His joy was short lived as Dorian heard the unmistakable crunch of footsteps and he held his breath, worried that the slightest thing might give him away.

The footsteps were light and even measured, not what one would expect a Qunari to sound like. He couldn’t see through the foliage, but he knew that Iron Bull could be deceptively light on his feet and was sure that Hissrad was the same. Then the steps stopped. Dorian left a pretty obvious trail for when he ran, especially since his feet were bleeding. At the time he was only concerned with getting as far away as possible, but in hindsight he wished he took more care in concealing his tracks.

For several long and literally painful minutes, Dorian laid perfectly still on the cold ground, breathing as silently as he could through his nose and listened carefully. He thought he could hear movement, but he didn’t know if it was the person, an animal, or just the ambient noise of the forest. Dorian was on the verge of hyperventilating when he certainly heard movement near him and even kept a hand firmly over his mouth to muffle any sound he might accidentally make.

The shrubbery around Dorian suddenly rustled and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, kadan, what did you do to yourself?”

Warm, large hands grabbed at Dorian’s cold body.

“BULL!” Dorian screamed, his last ditch effort as he was taken from his hiding spot. “BULL! HELP! ANYONE, HELP!”

“Shh, you’re safe now, Dorian, you’re safe.”

Dorian opened his eyes and instantly spotted the scar under Hissrad’s ribs. He didn’t fight as Hissrad lifted him up, but sobbed pitifully, “Katoh, katoh, katoh.”

“You’re so clever, kadan,” Hissrad said kindly, sounding proud as he spotted the damage done to the collar. “You’re so strong, that’s why I love you.”

Dorian just buried his face into Hissrad’s chest, trembling from cold, pain, and hopelessness. There would be no other chances for escape now. By the time his leg healed, he’d already long under Hissrad’s influence and Hissrad would not allow another opportunity to pop up.

He made a small whimpering sound as his injured and swollen leg was jostled and Hissrad murmured in concern. “I know it’s going to hurt getting back to the cabin, but I’ll take care of your leg and your feet once I can. Then I’ll draw you a hot bath, have you eat something, and maybe we’ll finish _Hard In Hightown_ today.”

As miserable as Dorian was, all of that sounded divine after running and hiding in the woods all morning.

“Will you be good for me, Dorian?”

“Yes.” There was nothing left. Only acceptance of his fate and defeat. 

“Thank the Maker!”

The relieved outburst rang out in the woods, startling Hissrad so much that he nearly dropped Dorian.

“It’s a good thing you shriek like a damn banshee, Altus,” a crisp, Tevinter accent called out. “How did you find him so quick, Chief? I thought you were behind me.”

“Krem,” Hissrad uttered the name so quietly that Dorian could hardly hear him.

Hissrad turned around and stiffened at the sight of the Tevinter lieutenant. Dorian, on the other hand, drank up the sight of Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi. There were dark circles under Krem’s eyes, his hair and face were unwashed, and his armor was scoffed, and he had never looked better to Dorian. Krem himself stood in horrified silence looking at Dorian, naked, scratches all over him, and a collar around his neck.

“Fuck, Dorian, what happened to you?” Krem took a step towards them.

“Krem, get back!” Dorian warned quickly as Hissrad drew in a sharp breath. “Go find Bull!”

Krem was startled and his eyes widened, really looking at Hissrad. “Aw fuck, is that a demon?” Krem drew his sword and unslung the shield on his back, obviously not going anywhere without Dorian.

“Chargers! Horns up!” A deep voice boomed the familiar battle cry, echoing in the forest, and making Dorian’s heart soar.

With all of his strength, Dorian kicked his good leg and lashed out with one arm, managing to smack Hissrad in the face and causing the Qunari drop him. His leg exploded into agony when he hit the ground and automatically he curled into a ball, unable to move from the shock of pain. 

A dull, wet thud roused Dorian long enough to look up and see an arrow sticking out of Hissrad’s left shoulder. Then Dorian saw Bull. Bull in the Emerald Graves, an arrow sticking out of his left - or was it the right - shoulder, blood coming in little streams down his chest as he merely grunted in annoyance. He stood over Dorian, who’d been downed by a blow to the head, and was protecting him from the warrior that wanted to finish the job. But it was Dorian’s leg that hurt, not his head, his leg and ankle throbbed.

No. Not Bull. It was Hissrad.

Then everything faded away.

\---

Everything was moving, that was all Dorian was aware of. The bed he was on swayed with the crunch of wheels and the overcast sky slowly crept by overhead. Blankets weighed him down, but his face was exposed to the cold autumn air. Dorian remembered being cold all over, shivering in the dirt, trying to remain silent. He wasn’t in the dirt anymore.

“Where?” His voice cracked from the desert dryness in his mouth, thick with the taste elfroot.

“In a wagon, on our way home. Go back to sleep, kadan, we have a long trip back.”

Fingers massaged Dorian’s scalp and he turned his head to see a single dark eye staring down at him, surrounded by tight lines and set in a haggard gray face. Lowering his gaze, Dorian spotted strips of white bandages stretched across a wide torso, blocking his view of the spot right under the ribs. Dorian closed his eyes, choosing to believe that he was with the Iron Bull.

“Cold,” Dorian complained, though his limbs were too leaden to shiver. There was rustling and then another blanket was draped over him, washing him with Bull’s scent. 

He cracked open an eye, staring up at the clouds that crawled by above. He wasn’t in Skyhold. He wasn’t in the cabin. He was moving, going somewhere.

“Where?”

The fingers in his hair stilled and a quiet sigh was barely audible to his left. “We’re going back to Skyhold. Go to sleep, kadan, you need to rest.”

Dorian obeyed.

\---

There were sounds all around him as Dorian drifted in and out of various states of consciousness. Sometimes he heard his name, other times there was the crackle and pop of a fire, and almost always there was the soft murmur of people talking around him. There was always someone with him, someone urging him to eat, someone bathing the stinging wounds on his feet, someone petting his hair, whispering to him that everything was ok.

Until it wasn’t ok.

Dorian snapped into full consciousness as he convulsed on the bedroll, his arm flailed and knocked away the glass vial that was held against his lips as a hand massaged his throat to help him swallow. He spat out the liquid in his mouth and tried to get away when multiple hands held him down. His whole being was on fire, his skin was slick with sweat and his throat stung with acid trying to claw upwards from his stomach. It hurt, he couldn’t identify what, but everything just hurt.

“Keep him still! Dalish, get me another potion, he needs it before the worst of the withdrawal symptoms set in.”

“You mean this gets worse!?”

“Damn it, Chief! What was that son of a bitch giving him?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” a deep voice cursed above Dorian.

Hands were holding Dorian down, trying to make him consume another potion. Hissrad’s patience must have worn thin. He didn’t want it. He wanted his mind to be whole again and he was afraid that he was going to go over the edge.

“No, no, no, no!” His mouth moved on its own. “No! Katoh! Katoh!”

“Get off him! Let go! Now!” A voice thundered and the hands disappeared.

Before he realized what was happening, Dorian curled into himself and sobs wracked his entire body. It stopped. Everything stopped, no questions asked.

“Kadan. Kadan, please.” There was begging, but no one touched him. “Please, you need to take this before you get worse. Please, Dorian.”

His arm trembled as he reached out from under the blankets and nodded his head just a fraction. A loud exhale of relief came and a cool glass vial was given to him. Dorian drank and shook under his blankets until he drifted off again.

\---

“How long to Skyhold?” Dorian asked, fairly confident that they were going to Skyhold. His mind was unclouded for once, but he felt all of the scrapes and cuts on his feet, his broken ankle, and badly bruised knee.

“Couple more days. That thing dragged you out to the ass end of nowhere,” Krem answered, leaning against a barrel in the wagon. The whites of his eyes were pink from a lack of sleep and a bandage covered a healing gash on his cheek.

“How long was … How long did he …?”

“You were gone three weeks when we found you.”

Dorian swallowed. He lost more time than he originally thought. “I only remember two.”

“Fuck.”

“Is he …”

“Whatever’s left of it is smeared on the side of that hill.”

Dorian vividly recalled being in the dark future with Adaar and the great boom the doors made as the demons invaded the throne room. Iron Bull’s red lyrium riddled body was tossed aside by one of the demons, an image haunted Dorian for good long while as he grew closer to Bull. The thought of Bull’s - Hissrad’s - remains left out to rot on a lonely Fereldan hillside bothered Dorian. He couldn’t stop thinking of Bull’s lifeless form being flung carelessly by a demon, this time down a hill in the woods.

“How is the Bull?”

“The Chief? Physically, he’s fine, that wound will heal up fine. Emotionally, he’s … scared for you, has been since this whole mess started. Three weeks of searching for you was rough on him, rougher on you, I know, but I’ve never seen him so terrified.”

A thick silence lapsed between them.

“You think you can eat something? Stitches says we need to fatten you up.”

His stomach hurt, demanding nourishment, but food was his enemy. It dragged him under, made his brain soft and malleable.

“No.”

\---

The bedroom door burst open, making Bull visibly tense, but it was only Adaar who strode into his and Dorian’s quarters, looking both annoyed and overjoyed. “I distinctly told the guards to get me the second you got back.”

Dorian was sitting up in bed just half an hour after the Chargers returned to Skyhold. “I refused to see you until you were at your best,” he retorted weakly as she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Welcome home, you son of a bitch.” 

Tears brightened Adaar’s eyes and she pulled Dorian into a tight embrace. Gray flooded Dorian’s vision, bringing in an edge of panic, but Adaar smelled distinctly of lilac oil mixed with metal and cotton, grounding him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I should’ve gone with Bull, but Josephine was like, ‘You must help seal rifts at this duke’s place, peasants are getting eaten,’ and I was like, ‘Fuck that duke, someone took my vint.’ But then Josephine somehow won that argument.”

Dorian snorted into Adaar’s shoulder, the Inquisitor had yet to let go of him. “You’re forgiven this time. Thank you for sending the Chargers.”

“As if I could stop them.” Then Adaar’s voice thickened with grief, “I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

“Boss,” Bull said softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Adaar sniffed as she untangled herself from Dorian, “it’s late and Dorian needs his beauty sleep. But tomorrow, your ass is mine, Pavus, and we’re getting drunk. If Stitches clears it.”

“I demand only your finest and strongest alcohols,” Dorian replied and bid the Inquisitor goodnight.

Her departure left him and Iron Bull alone again.

“I can sleep in my old quarters,” Bull started. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight, I’ll get whoever you want.”

“I want you.”

The apprehension in Bull slid away and he slipped into the bed next to Dorian, keeping his distance. Dorian smiled tentatively and reached out so his fingers brushed against Bull’s arm. He was back in his own bed, next to his amatus, and when his eyelids fluttered shut—

_It was Hissrad. His ugly scar under his ribs. White speckling his stubble. Chip in his left horn. Face draped in grief, regret, and hunger._

_“Oh, kadan, what did you do to yourself?”_

_Hands grabbed at Dorian, stripping him of his clothes—_

_“Will you be good for me, Dorian?”_

_—a metal collar weighed down his neck, no—_

_“Tell your amatus what you need.”_

_—no. No. No. Katoh. Katoh._

Dorian woke up the entire wing with his screaming.

\---

“It was me who took you, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a demon.”

“He wasn’t you, he was a Hissrad from a different time, one who lost everything.”

“Fuck, Dorian, I did this to you.”

“No, he wasn’t you, that’s the only thing that kept me sane, amatus.”

“When you look at me, kadan, what do you see?”

Tears rolled down Dorian’s cheeks as he closed his eyes, blocking out the naked anguish on Bull’s face. 

“Hissrad.”

\---

It took a while to accept that Skyhold was not an illusion of Dorian’s desperate mind. The cool stone walls scraped in just the right way under his palms. There was the familiar constant movement of guards, servants, soldiers, nobles, merchants, and ambassadors at all hours of the day. The tavern still smelled of stale beer and the bard’s songs echoed in the horrid acoustics of the building. And Dorian’s quarters were as he remembered them, plush rugs covering the floor, a little writing desk with a pile of unanswered correspondence, a vanity cluttered with cosmetics, his wardrobe was still on the verge of bursting, and stacks of books peppered every available surface. 

There were smatterings of Iron Bull in the room as well. Bull’s favorite battleaxe was mounted on the wall over the small fireplace, large boots were neatly lined up on the floor, a whetstone sat on a stack of books, five different jars of horn balm crowded the vanity, and various dragon figurines decorated the room.

The only thing that was missing was Iron Bull himself.

The bitter reality of Dorian’s recovery was that his captor was Bull’s copy in almost every way and it did little to help fix his fragile psyche. He saw Bull when he could handle it, but they hadn’t shared the same bed since the disastrous first night of Dorian’s return. He missed Bull and was terrified of him at the same time.

A solid month back at Skyhold and Dorian still felt like his life was taken away from him, that he was irreversibly changed. But he didn’t want Hissrad to win, he didn’t want to belong to Hissrad.

With those thoughts, Dorian made his way into the tavern, hobbling along on the crutches Stitches outfitted for him, the bones in his ankle were still mending and his knee was tender. There was a slight pause in the chatter of the tavern before it returned full force and allowed Dorian pass through mostly unnoticed to the back of the main floor where Iron Bull and the Chargers usually sat. They were drinking, flirting with barmaids and servers, and busy giving each other shit.

Bull sat in his chair, slumped far down with his hand around his hardly touched lukewarm pint of beer. His tired eye watched the Chargers idly and smiled when necessary.

“Altus!” Krem spotted Dorian first and raised his glass and everyone else followed suit. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

A cheer rose up from the Chargers, all of them happy to see him. Even Skinner graced him with a rare smile that didn’t involve talking about killing shems. Bull sat up and a real, but brittle, grin lit up his face.

“Kadan.”

“Good evening,” Dorian smiled at the Chargers and Bull, grateful when someone brought a chair over for him to sit in. Without asking for permission, he carefully swung his injured leg up and plopped it on Iron Bull’s lap. Bull beamed like Dorian had given him the head of a dragon and rested his hand above Dorian’s ankle.

Dorian let himself be lulled by the Chargers’ conversations, not participating, but content to just be there. He hadn’t spent much with them since they brought him back to Skyhold, but he realized how much he missed their company, how much they were an extension of Bull. What it cost Hissrad to have that part of him severed so suddenly.

Shaking his head, Dorian stared at Bull’s face and memorized all the little details there. The darkness of his stubble, every scar, every line, and his wide and flawless horns. He was the Iron Bull. When Dorian closed his eyes, he stayed the Iron Bull and no one else took his place in Dorian’s mind.

“Kadan, do you need help back up to your room?” Bull asked, snapping Dorian out of his doze.

“Uh, yes, thank you.” Dorian held his hand out to Bull, who happily took it and helped Dorian onto his good leg and balance on his crutches.

“But you just got here!” Dalish protested, even though Dorian was sitting there for an hour.

“You hardly touched your beer,” Rocky frowned as he was quick to pick it up and down it.

“I promise to come out and play again soon,” Dorian teased.

“We’re holding you to that, Altus,” Krem tipped his head to Dorian.

The walk back to his room was slow as it required a lot of stairs which were tricky. The slowness of the walk was emphasized by the fact that they didn’t say anything the entire way, both of them well aware of the fact that since Dorian’s rescue it wasn’t often that they were alone together.

Bull opened the door to what was once their shared room and gave Dorian a crooked smile. “Sleep well, kadan.”

“Come inside,” Dorian said impulsively as he entered the room and eased down onto the bed.

Bull hovered in the doorway for a couple heart beats, then stepped inside and shut the door behind of him. He stood close to the door, his hands flexed into fists before relaxing and then flexing back into fists, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Sera still spending the night in here?” Bull nodded to her bright red tunic that was thrown over Dorian’s desk.

“Less often now,” Dorian replied, though Sera slept in the bed with him the night before. Sera was a safe, solid presence. “She is at the disposal of our dear Inquisitor tonight.”

“And you’re eating ok now?”

“Both sleeping and eating, I promise. Maybe a little less than Stitches would like, but more than before.”

“You’ll get there, kadan, you can’t rush it.”

Dorian shook his head and scooted over on the bed, patting the empty space. “Come lie down with me, amatus.”

“Dorian, I just said—”

“I need you to lie down with me. Just … please, I miss you. He … He tried to take you from me and I’m not going to let him. I love you. I love you too much for that, amatus.”

Bull’s face crumpled and Dorian thought he was going to leave, but then Iron Bull took a step further into the room, standing before Dorian. His hand rose, hovering close to Dorian’s face and Dorian closed the space by leaning into the touch, his breath hitching at the contact.

“I love you too, kadan, and I miss you, every second.”

Every muscle in Dorian relaxed. “Help me undress?”

Bull swallowed. “Sure.”

Dorian sat perfectly still as Bull kneeled in front of him and unlaced the one boot Dorian wore, removing it slowly. Bull grunted softly as he got back up and leaned in close to undo all the straps and buckles of Dorian’s outer robes and pushed them off. He stopped at the soft cotton under robe and didn’t touch Dorian’s dark leggings. Then he removed his own boots, eyepatch, and harness, stopping at his atrocious green and red striped pants.

The bed sank under Bull’s weight and they laid together, side by side, inches feeling like miles. Dorian squirmed until his clothed shoulder was pressed against Bull’s and the knee of his uninjured leg dug into Bull’s thigh.

“Goodnight, kadan,” Bull’s voice was watery.

“Goodnight, amatus.” Dorian didn't sound any more stable.

It wasn’t a restful night of sleep for either of them. Dorian woke up in fits over and over again throughout the night and he was pretty sure that Bull didn’t sleep at all and just laid there staring at the ceiling until the morning. But they made it to the morning and when Dorian opened his gritty eyes, it was Iron Bull at his side. 

It was Bull who shared breakfast with him that morning in bed. It was Bull who laughed and joked, easing the fear and tension between them, who let Dorian throw grapes into his mouth, and who brushed a kiss on Dorian’s knuckles as he got up to leave. And it was Bull who let out an undignified squeak when Dorian jumped up and threw himself at Bull, catching Bull’s mouth with his own.

It had been too long since Dorian last kissed his amatus. The heat of Bull’s lips against his, the scratch of his stubble, the puff of breath on his cheek from Bull’s nose, it all felt familiar and right. Nothing was magically fixed, Dorian was aware of that, but just being with Bull was a good step. It was like coming home.


	2. To Slay a Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dorian recovers, the Iron Bull tries to find a way to move forward and a way to control Hissrad.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

\---

Iron Bull severed its head in a single, rage fueled swing from his battleaxe.

He swallowed back the thick bile crawling up his throat, staring down at the body on the forest ground. His chest tightened painfully as he heaved in his breaths and waiting, hoping, for the demon to reveal itself, for the body to shrivel into the remains of an envy demon. It didn’t.

A Qunari body laid there in front of Bull. Several arrows pierced the torso, burn marks scorched gray skin, deep gashes marred long limbs, and now its head lulled away from the body, its single unseeing eye remained open. It bled a lot, bright red blood staining the browns and greens of the foliage under foot. It didn’t bleed like a demon.

Bull took a step back and turned away from the corpse, heading towards where Skinner dragged Dorian away in the middle of the fight, sheltering Dorian behind a tall cropping of stones. Once Dorian was taken off the battlefield by Skinner, the Qunari fought with no sense of self preservation. Before, the Qunari tried to keep the Chargers away and looked for some way to escape with Dorian, but once Dorian was taken to safety, it fought without restraint. It was primarily attacking Iron Bull and seemingly was unable to strike down Krem, even though for one terrifying moment he had a clear opening. 

Krem was ruthless and pressed that to his advantage when Bull took a slash to his ribs. With the full force of the Chargers at his back, Krem managed to down the beast, bringing it to its knees and allowed Bull take the killing blow.

Skinner already ran off to fetch Stitches, they didn’t want to move Dorian any further without Stitches giving the ok that it wouldn’t hurt him further. Dalish was kneeling beside Dorian, she downed a lyrium potion and a warm green glow enveloped her hands as she started scanning Dorian for injuries. Her eyes were red and brighter than usual.

Crouching down beside Dorian’s unconscious form, wrapped in someone’s cloak, Iron Bull touched his cool cheek. He clenched his jaw tightly to keep it from trembling.

“It looks like Dorian left a pretty clear trail from wherever he was being held,” Krem reported quietly to Bull, standing close.

Bull forced himself upright and nodded. “We’ll go check it out after we get Dorian to camp.”

He couldn’t tear his eye away from Dorian, looking pale and vulnerable lying on the forest floor with a collar locked around his neck. All Bull wanted was to hold Dorian, warm his cold body, and wait for Dorian to wake up, say something sarcastic about Bull being late, and give Bull a kiss. Glancing back at the decapitated corpse, Bull didn’t know if that was possible.

Stitches arrived with Skinner and assessed Dorian’s injuries with Dalish as he instructed Krem to help bind the weeping wound on Bull’s rib cage. After putting a splint on Dorian’s swollen leg, Stitches deemed him ok to move and they brought Dorian back to their camp at the base of the hill, where Stitches worked on cleaning out the nasty wounds on Dorian’s feet in his tent before infection settled in.

Bull followed Stitches into the tent, watching as his company healer worked. “How is he?”

“Besides his feet, his ankle is broken, knee’s bruised pretty badly, and he’s malnourished and dehydrated,” Stitches reported, wrapping Dorian’s poor feet.

Bull blinked back the sudden burning in his eye as he remembered all the times Dorian pressed his cold toes against his leg, trying to warm them as they slept together. _His footsies must be so cold._

“He’s not going to wake up anytime soon, Chief. Go ahead with Krem and see if you can find the key to this damn thing,” Stitches motioned towards the collar around Dorian’s neck.

Bull just nodded and ducked out of the tent to collect Krem.

Iron Bull and his second trudged up the hill, following the bloodied footprints that were shadowed by much larger imprints made by boots. Fury spiked in Bull at the thought of Dorian running terrified through the woods and without any clothing or shoes to protect him from the elements, while he was being stalked by a well-equipped Qunari. He also felt pride towards Dorian as he and Krem followed the long trail that Dorian left behind, his kadan managed to make it quite a distance before he was caught.

The trail led them to a clearing with a small cabin and barn. Dread settled in the pit of Bull’s stomach as they moved closer to the cabin, which didn’t improve when they entered. Inside, the bed was a tangled mess of sheets and blankets with shackles attached to the headboard and to the posts at the foot of the bed. There was a small pool of clear oil and shards of glass near the bed. A series of half full potion flasks lined the counter in the tiny kitchen area in a neat row, the contents of which Bull recognized from when he turned himself in for reeducation.

“Fuck, Chief,” Krem breathed.

“Let’s see if we can find anything useful.” Bull managed to pick up his feet and moved about the small space.

The cupboards were well stocked with food and provisions, but yielded nothing of interest. Bull poked around the canvas bags left on the floor and found weapons, several battered journals, books, and extra clothing for the Qunari, but no clothing for Dorian. He did find Dorian’s jewelry, there was a necklace and a couple of rings, an enchanted one to boost Dorian’s spells and a worn silverite ring that was a gift from Felix. In the false bottom of one of the bags there was a key with a rune etched into it, similar to the ones on the collar locked around Dorian’s neck.

“Found one good thing,” Iron Bull held up the key before securing it and the jewelry in his pocket.

Krem sighed with relief. “Thank the Maker, I was worried about how we’d get that damn thing off of him.”

Continuing his search, Bull found another bag with a couple bundles of carefully copied letters, written in an even and sickeningly familiar hand. All of the letters were from or addressed to Dorian, some of the letters Iron Bull wrote to Dorian were there, along with a couple from Adaar, and a few from Josephine. A larger bundle contained every letter Dorian wrote to Bull while he was away in Tevinter, all diligently copied. From the creases in the paper, it looked like those particular letters were read multiple times, especially the ones where Dorian described how he wished to ravished once they reunited and the ones where Dorian wrote about how much he missed Bull.

“It was copying Dorian’s mail,” Krem scowled. “How come you didn’t notice your letters were opened?”

“I wasn’t looking for it and there are techniques for opening and resealing letters,” Bull answered, having used many of those techniques himself.

Looking under the bed, Bull spotted a small trunk that he dragged out and placed it on top of the bed to open. There were a couple lengths of soft rope, a plain leather collar, bottles of oil, and several dildos of various sizes, made of glass and polished wood. Bull’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands balled into fists to stop the shaking he could feel in his fingers.

“They look unused.” There was a quiver in Krem’s voice.

That was a cold comfort to Bull. He dumped out the contents and knocked along the bottom of the trunk, finding another false bottom. Inside was a curious looking amulet that Bull thought he may have seen before, but couldn’t place it. He tucked the amulet away in his pocket, hoping that someone back at Skyhold might know about it. Then Bull hurled the trunk across the room where it made a satisfying smack against the wall and fell to the floor with a loud thump. The noise made Krem stiffen and tilt his head.

“Hey, Chief, hear that?” Krem stomped his foot on the floorboards, producing a faint, hollow noise.

“There’s a cellar,” Bull caught on immediately.

They had to go outside to find the entrance to the cellar on the backside of the cabin and saw that the cellar wasn’t any more encouraging than the cabin itself. There was an extra set of shackles, another collar, more premixed potions and the ingredients to make more, and a large sum of gold. Bull found the shredded remains of Dorian’s clothing in a corner, his fingers gently held the torn ribbons of red dyed silk, soft cotton, and supple leather, reconstructing in his mind the outfit Dorian wore before he was taken.

Krem opened a large trunk sitting on a table. It was neatly packed with never worn robes, cloaks, tunics, trousers, smallclothes, socks, and shoes, all made in silks, velvets, and other fine cloth and in Dorian’s size. There were also unopened jars of Dorian’s favorite cosmetics and scents, books that were in Dorian’s taste of literature, and shiny new jewelry. In that trunk was everything Dorian would need to be comfortable until coming home or until being settled into a new life.

“What the fuck was that thing planning?” Krem fumed.

“To take Dorian away and to take my place.” Bull stared at the trunk, before forcing himself to meet his second’s eyes. “We should take something for Dorian to wear.”

“No!” Krem snapped angrily. “I’ll give the Altus the shirt off of my back, but we’re not taking this shit.” He knocked the trunk to the ground, clothes tumbled out and little glass jars shattered upon impact. “We got the key to the collar, that’s all we need from that thing.”

Bull nodded and remained silent to let his second seethe, then Bull came across a saarebas mask and an arvaarad control rod. The sight of them instantly repulsed him. He used to think of them as a necessary evil, to keep mages under control and protect everyone else from demons, but he couldn’t see them anymore without thinking of Dorian with his mouth sewn shut and a husk of his former self. 

Bull didn’t know what the Qunari planned to use them for. It was clear that the Qunari wasn’t trying to convert Dorian or make him into a weapon, but the mask and control rod might have been a last resort in case Dorian wasn’t responding to whatever it was that he was doing to Dorian. Or maybe the Qunari just liked the look of the mask and got off on the complete control over a mage, over Dorian, it represented. Before he knew it, Bull was smashing the mask against the cellar wall as he screamed in fury. 

The mask was in unrecognizable shambles by the time Bull dropped it and he snapped the control over his knee.

“Hey Krem, how would you feel about burning this place?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

\---

It wore Iron Bull’s face. It kidnapped, tortured, and chased Dorian wearing his face. Bull stepped towards it, his battleaxe heavy in his hands.

_“Who are you?”_ he asked.

_“Dead.”_ The thing acknowledged, using Bull’s voice.

And Iron Bull thought, _Yes, you are._

He swung the axe.

Then, something sounding very much like Cole, whispered in Bull’s head, _He wants to consume you, he misses being the Iron Bull._

\---

It was him. He was the one who kidnapped Dorian, drugged him, terrorized him, and nearly broke him. When Iron Bull thought about it, really thought about the whole situation, there was only one explanation. There was no demon, no twin brother as Rocky helpfully suggested, it was only him. Krem denied it vigorously the entire way back to Skyhold, but no amount of denial could change the truth.

When Bull closed his eye, he could picture the Qunari perfectly. The face was nearly identical, the same scars, the same missing eye, but there were more lines around the eye and mouth, white was scattered in the facial hair, and there was a chip in the left horn. The Qunari was older, weathered, but Bull knew the truth when he looked at Dorian’s captor.

Iron Bull kidnapped Dorian.

Adaar just about confirmed his suspicions when Bull dropped the amulet he found on her desk the morning after they returned to Skyhold.

“Aw fuck, that’s Alexius’s time magic amulet thing,” Adaar groaned. 

She stared at the amulet, unwilling to touch it. She was briefed on the little that they knew of what happened and Bull kept up regular correspondence with her while they were searching for Dorian. It was hard for her not to join them, Adaar ached to go and find her friend, he could easily see that before he left with the Chargers, but an emergency with lingering unsealed rifts called her away.

“I found it in the cabin where Dorian was being held.” Bull rubbed at his eye, dry from a lack of sleep after Dorian started screaming the night before. Bull didn’t sleep for a single minute after he was woken by Dorian’s panicked screams, chanting the word _katoh_.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you time traveled to kidnap Dorian?” Adaar sounded confused. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I went mad,” the words were thick in his mouth. “Boss, if it’s me, if I came from the future to hurt Dorian, I need you to—”

“No,” Adaar said sharply, feeling like a punch in Bull’s gut. “We’re not going there. What we need to do is find out why you went mad.”

“I think only Dorian knows that,” he grunted, not exactly eager for that particular conversation, but he needed to know.

As it turned out, the truth was a little less painful than Bull anticipated, but it wasn’t good, not at all. He and Dorian sat in Vivienne’s old space overlooking the great hall for an afternoon tea. It gave them privacy, but it was wide and open to help Dorian not feel trapped. Bull purposefully positioned himself so that he was closest to the balcony and made sure that he wasn’t blocking either exit.

Across from Bull, Dorian sat with his injured leg stretched out and elevated and his other leg curled up close to his body, careful to not put pressure on the bottom of his foot. He was wrapped in thick robes with a high collar that didn’t dare expose any skin below the top of his throat with the exception of his hands. Bull found that he missed usual the tease of Dorian’s bare shoulder and the hint of collarbone in his open collar, but he didn’t say anything about it. Dorian smiled tentatively at Bull, drank only half a cup of tea and played with his food, not once did one of those tiny cucumber sandwiches make it anywhere near Dorian’s mouth.

“It was me who took you, wasn’t it?” Bull asked, his words coming out strained. “He wasn’t a demon.”

“He wasn’t you,” Dorian was firm and determined, “he was a Hissrad from a different time, one who lost everything.”

Acid churned in Bull’s stomach. “Fuck, Dorian, I did this to you.”

“No, he wasn’t you, that’s the only that thing kept me sane, amatus.”

“When you look at me, kadan, what do you see?” 

Silence dragged on as Dorian closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks. “Hissrad,” he finally whispered.

The air was knocked out of Iron Bull’s lungs and he very nearly cried himself at the confession. He wondered if Dorian would ever look at him again and only see Bull or if Hissrad would always remain.

“Hissrad lost the Chargers and betrayed the Inquisition for the Qun,” Dorian explained, tears silently sliding down his face. “He didn’t think he’d survive, but he did and he couldn’t live with what he did, or at least he couldn’t live with betraying his Dorian.”

Bull’s chest tightened and he ached to wipe the tears from Dorian’s cheeks, to hold him, but he clung onto his delicate teacup and listened.

“His Dorian moved on with Cullen and had a chance to be happy,” there was a tremor in Dorian’s laugh. “He didn’t know that Hissrad was still alive, the knowledge probably would have destroyed him, so Hissrad decided to take a jaunt across time and space. He _persuaded_ Alexius to help him.”

Dorian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes were red and shiny, and he took time to draw in deep, long breaths.

“He thought he was going to protect me from you, make it so I’d never be betrayed.” The tears started to come down faster. “I … I told him that you’re Tal-Vashoth, but he … he still …”

“Dorian,” Bull interrupted softly, “you don’t have to continue.”

Dorian shook his head as he wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief, discarding the square of silk on the table. “He wasn’t you, but he tried to be. He wanted to take your place. He kept drugging my food and telling me that I was safe, that he was my amatus, that ...” Dorian trailed off and composed himself. “I was … I was losing you. When I … I knew I didn’t have much time until I … Well, I managed to escape for a while and you saved me.”

“You saved yourself, kadan.”

“It was a joint effort,” Dorian gave Bull a brittle smile.

Another silence overcame them. It was thick and suffocating, both weighed down with what happened, that someone wearing Iron Bull’s face nearly broke Dorian. They should have been thankful to be in each other’s presence, Bull thought, should have been in the middle of life reaffirming sex for at least a week, where Bull’s hands and lips would never leave Dorian’s body. But everything was tainted now.

The quiet ended when Bull placed Dorian’s jewelry on the table. Dorian stared at the items for a few seconds before he realized what they were and the last time he saw them. The enchanted ring and necklace disappeared into a pocket in Dorian’s robes and the silverite ring slid back to its place on the middle finger of his left hand.

“What else did you find?”

Iron Bull’s face remained still and he didn’t answer.

“What else did you find in the cabin?” Dorian’s voice hardened.

He wanted to spin a convincing lie and tell Dorian that there was nothing of note, or to tell a half-truth and leave out the more terrifying details. But despite the pain it would bring, the last thing Dorian needed was someone manipulating him again. So Iron Bull told Dorian. About the copies of his letters, the trunk filled with things for him to start a new life with, the journals, the amulet, the sex toys, the stash of gold, the supply of potions, and the mask and control rod. By the time he finished, Dorian was shaking and his face was buried in his hands.

Later, after Adaar and Sera collected Dorian and took him to Adaar’s quarters, Bull entered the room he shared with Dorian and packed a few things, changes of clothing and extra boots, a jar of horn balm, and a book he was in the middle of reading. He knew he wouldn’t be returning to the room any time soon. He also took the time to open the drawer at the bottom of his dresser, inside was a variety of silk scarves, ropes, oils, a collar, and a set of manacles. Grabbing the manacles and collar, he took them with him as he headed outside, tossing them over the battlements without a second thought.

He wasn’t surprised to see Cole walking along the edge of the battlements, looking down at the shackles and collar tumbling down the side of the wall. “They used to bind Dorian to you, but now you’re afraid that they will bind him to Hissrad forever.”

Bull didn’t reply.

That night, Bull sat in his old quarters. The musk of dust and stale air was thick from disuse, the big gaping hole in the ceiling was long fixed, and the furniture was covered with large sheets of cloth. Not bothering to uncover a chair or the bed, Iron Bull sat on the floor, his back leaning against the wall, the fire crackling happily in the hearth, and a bottle of strong, amber colored liquor of questionable origins sat between his knees.

That was how Krem found him. His second took the time to uncover the chair closest to Bull and sat down heavily upon it. Krem came prepared with a beaten up flask already in hand that he took deep, long drinks from.

“It was me,” Bull finally said after long minutes spent without either of them speaking. “I did this to Dorian.”

He explained what he learned from Dorian, only pausing to take swigs from his bottle, and Krem listened.

“It wasn’t you,” Krem said after Bull said his piece. “That fucking thing wasn’t you.”

“Krem—”

“It wasn’t you!” Krem’s voice raised, his knuckles were white from the tight grip he had on his flask.

Standing up, Krem moved from his chair and sat down on the floor next to Bull. His shoulder bumped into Bull’s arm, the wool of his shirt scratched Bull’s thick skin. The last month wasn’t easy on his lieutenant, Iron Bull knew that Krem cared deeply about Bull and he also liked Dorian. The search for Dorian was long and demoralizing, and then to find another version of the Iron Bull as Dorian’s kidnapper was a terrible shock. The journey back to Skyhold wasn’t much better with Dorian’s outbursts of terror and confusion, suffering through withdrawals from the drugs that were fed to him and fighting festering infections in his wounds. 

It took a lot out of the Chargers and especially Krem, who was used to being the one to smooth things over and the voice of levelheaded reason, but something else troubled Krem. Bull could see it in the way Krem stared at Bull, the way his jaw worked as he unconsciously ground his teeth, and the tension he carried in his body.

“That thing was not you,” Bull’s lieutenant repeated, leaning his head against the wall. “It hurt Dorian, did twisted things to him, things you’d never even think of doing.”

“It’s in me. Under the wrong circumstances, that’s what I will become.”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do, you have to—”

“No! No, you won’t become that thing.”

They sat in silence again, both sipping on their drinks.

“It’s kind of nice to know though,” Krem said abruptly, leaving his thought half finished.

“What is?”

“You were so worried that you’d go mad without the Qun, but now you know that you’d have gone mad if you stayed.”

Bull snorted out a laugh and held his bottle of liquor up, clanking it against Krem’s flask and toasting to that little insight.

\---

Qunari don’t dream, but they do remember.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

As Iron Bull slept alone, he remembered the sight of Hissrad kneeling in front of him in the forest, his numerous injuries bleeding, arrows sticking from his torso, and stinking of burnt flesh. Hissrad’s one eye stared in the direction where Skinner dragged Dorian to safety and Bull saw that there was nothing left in the man in front of him.

Hissrad was already dead and Iron Bull just helped him take the final step.

_He wanted his Dorian to kill him,_ Cole told him, _you gave him release from the pain, the Iron Bull._

\---

Bull spent a lot of time up in Vivienne’s old space. He liked to think about what kind of cold and cutthroat advice she would give him if she had not returned to Empress Celene’s court. It brought him an odd sort of comfort, even though he knew she would most likely advise him to let Dorian go. But Bull liked that Vivienne respected his strength and intelligence, taking an amused interest in his affairs, and that she cared more about him than she did most people. He could use her stern council, if only to hear her put him in his place, but he didn’t write to Vivienne, he didn’t know where to start.

Being up there also meant that he was in easy reach of the library, but in a part of the stronghold where Dorian wasn’t forced to go past him when going up to his usual nook. Sometimes Dorian couldn’t stand to see Bull, other times he sought out his company and Bull liked to be close by. Dorian seemed to find comfort in it as well, even if he didn’t see Bull at all.

When Dorian needed Bull’s company, he would lie on Vivienne’s lounge, his still healing leg stretched out in front of him, and he talked. On good days, Dorian talked about anything and everything.

“Amatus, did you hear that Adaar received three different proposals of marriage just this week? I’ve never seen Sera so consumed with planning such elaborate pranks.”

“I’m sure you did everything in your power to discourage her from pranking Adaar’s suitors, kadan.”

“Of course, I told her that she certainly shouldn’t do anything to that Orlesian nobleman’s food, which he is most particular about, and possibly the most annoying of all of them.”

On less good days, Dorian felt the need to explain.

“He … He never forced himself on me, not like that, but I … I touched myself for him, to make him unchain me and to distract him so I could attack him and escape.”

“You did what you had to, kadan.”

“Kaffas, I know that! I’m not asking for forgiveness! I just … I want …”

“It’s ok, kadan, I get it. Hey, did you manage to kick him in the balls when you were unchained? I really hope you did.”

“It was probably the most satisfying kick of my life.”

On bad days, Dorian dwelled.

“Maker, why did he have a control rod? He was … gentle to a point. He never … I would’ve never thought …”

“It might have been part of a half thought up plan he had, but disregarded it when he came up with something else.”

“Do you really think so, amatus?”

“I honestly don’t know, kadan.”

On worse days, Dorian was confused.

“Amatus, when should we travel to Antiva? Early summer, I think, it’ll be plenty warm by then to lie on the beach.”

“We’re going to Antiva, kadan?”

“Yes, you said you wanted to take me there, that I’m working too hard and …” Dorian stopped, all the color drained from his face and his eyes became unfocused.

Iron Bull got up immediately, making sure he didn’t move towards Dorian as he darted for the exit towards the library. Thankfully, Sera was hanging out in Dorian’s nook and she spotted Bull right away, understanding when Bull jerked his head in the direction from which he came. She scrambled out of the chair, her face grim as she brushed past Bull, heading towards Dorian. 

He took Sera’s spot in Dorian’s armchair and forced himself not to cry.

Every once in awhile, Dorian would send a note to Bull, requesting his presence and Bull would walk across the hallway to the library and took the empty seat next to Dorian. They usually spent that time in silence as Dorian read and Bull was just grateful to be near him.

Many times though, Dorian didn’t come to him or call on him at all and Bull was ok with that, despite how much it pained him. 

_Why would Dorian want to spend time with his torturer?_ A little voice whispered to Iron Bull on those days.

“Don’t listen to him,” Cole warned Iron Bull when those thoughts invaded his mind. “He wanted to become you, to consume you. Don’t let him.”

For once, Bull thought Cole was doling out good advice. Struggling to listen to Cole and stomp down that voice, Bull occupied his time with sharpening and mending his weapons, attending to his correspondence, reviewing reports from the Inquisition’s network of spies, and reading books. Krem often joined him, bitching about someone in the Chargers, working on his own weapons, sewing little stuffed nugs to send to the Divine, and on one ill thought out occasion, they sparred. Krem’s shield flying over the edge of the railing, nearly hitting Josephine and some nobles she was talking to, put an end to that.

On one such day, Bull was in the middle of writing to Leliana, the Divine, on everything Dorian told them about the possible Qunari invasion when he heard hushed giggles echoing through the great hall. It was late enough that many people retired to bed or sought out entertainment in the tavern, so the sound bounced off the walls and rang through the hollow space of the hall.

Iron Bull didn’t need to look to know that one of the people laughing was Dorian. His voice was readily recognizable and the uneven stride of his crutches told Bull that he was just down the stairs. Hugging the wall and peeking over the edge, Bull could see Dorian and Cullen making their way through the hall, laughing and hushing each other, and covered in a white dust. It was the first time since they found Dorian that Bull heard him laugh like that.

Cullen happened to look up and undoubtedly noticed Bull, but he didn’t miss a beat and escorted Dorian in the direction of the room that Iron Bull once shared with his kadan.

“I thought if maybe Dorian made his own food, he’d be more inclined to eat,” Cullen explained to Bull needlessly the next day as he came to drop off a report, obviously going out of his way to speak to Bull. “I know a couple recipes and I tried to teach him, emphasis on tried,” Cullen gave Bull a half smile. “I think most of the ingredients ended up on us.”

“Did he eat?”

“More than he has.”

“Good.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and a look of guilt settled over his features. With Cullen, that expression could mean that he felt bad that Dorian was spending time with him instead of with Iron Bull or it could mean that they slept together. Iron Bull couldn’t tell which, because of how hard Cullen was on himself.

If Dorian wanted Cullen, Bull wasn’t threatened by it. He wasn’t a jealous or possessive man and if Dorian wanted to fuck Cullen, then his kadan had Bull’s blessings. Bull honestly would prefer to be a part of it, but he’d settle on just hearing the details if it made Dorian happy. As long as it helped Dorian heal, helped him come back to Iron Bull, then he’d be content. If Dorian didn’t come back to Bull, well, then Bull would make sure that Cullen treated Dorian the way he deserved.

“There’s nothing between us, I mean, other than friendship,” Cullen said suddenly.

“I know, Cullen.”

“I just want you to know what I’m looking out for him and for you.”

“I know and thanks.”

Cullen turned to leave, but Bull called out his name, making the commander pause. “Yes, Bull?”

Bull almost asked Cullen what Adaar and Krem refused to even hear out, but decided that he couldn’t put it on the commander. Cullen was a man who had seen and done enough, and if Dorian needed Cullen in the future, then Bull couldn’t bloody Cullen’s hands with slaying a mad beast.

“Keep teaching Dorian how to cook,” Bull said instead. “I haven’t heard him laugh like that since he left for Tevinter.”

“I will,” Cullen smiled, the scar on his mouth pulling on his lip.

A lot of people were looking out for Dorian and most of them reported back to Iron Bull. He didn’t ask anyone to check up on Dorian for him or to tell him anything, but everyone filled him in without question.

“He sleeps like shit,” Sera told him, she was spending the night with Dorian more often than not. “Always cries for you. Crap that the thing that did this to him looked like you, yeah? But it means he misses you, loves you, though he doesn’t like to say it.” She gave Bull a grin and for some reason stole one of Bull’s pens on her way out. It ended up in Dorian’s nook in the library with a small hoard of other items Sera lifted from Bull.

“His leg is healing nicely, it’d heal faster if he’d take the elfroot potions I made for him. I try not to pressure him into taking them though, the last time I brought them up he nearly hyperventilated,” Stitches said one day after coming up to sit with Bull and Krem.

“He ate a whole sandwich for lunch and half a pork chop for dinner. Though I may have promised him his choice of wine from Skyhold’s cellar,” Adaar gave Bull an encouraging smile as they shared a drink in the tavern, her shoulder knocking into his.

“His focus is much better, he actually beat me at chess today!” Cullen exclaimed while they sparred, looking cheered at his own defeat and smacking Bull sharply on his leather covered shoulder with a training sword.

“Closing my eyes and Hissrad fades, hiding further in the shadows, he’s there, but not where he can hurt me. Bull is there, just across the hall, there, comforting, warm, protecting me. I just have to cross the hall and I am home,” Cole muttered under his breath, balancing on the railing of the balcony as Bull flipped through a book that he was no longer reading.

Some of the reports were less upbeat.

“There is a matter of great sensitivity that I wish to speak to you about,” Josephine said in the privacy in her office in the company of Adaar and a letter in her hand. She handed the offending piece of correspondence to Bull. “It is from Dorian’s parents, requesting his return to Tevinter to recover at the Pavus estate in Qarinus.”

They couldn’t keep secret the fact that Tevinter’s ambassador to the Inquisition was missing for nearly a month and that Dorian wasn’t in a state to perform his duties. The news traveled quickly to his parents and now they wanted him to come home, presumably to take care of him, but more likely to keep him from the influence of the Inquisition. Hearing from his parents could break the progress Dorian was making, but Bull also loathed to deceive and to keep secrets from him.

Thankfully Adaar was around to take that decision away from him.

“Tell them to fuck themselves,” she snapped. She patted Bull’s arm and added, “I’ll talk to Dorian about it.”

And the entire time Dorian mostly kept Bull at arm’s length, until he didn’t. Until he sought out Iron Bull and the Chargers in the tavern and invited Bull back into their room.

“Come lie down with me, amatus,” Dorian told Iron Bull and nothing could be more terrifying or heartening.

The morning afterward, as Bull finally left their room after sharing a comfortable breakfast with Dorian, his lips swollen from his kadan’s kisses, Cole walked along the battlements with him, saying, “He doesn’t want to belong to Hissrad, he doesn’t want Hissrad to win. He wants to come home.”

\--

At the time Iron Bull didn’t know that he was looking at what could have been. A man broken by the demands of the Qun, completely stripped of all the emotional ties that made him who he was and was desperately grasping for what remained. He was what Iron Bull would have become if he had stayed Hissrad.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

Iron Bull stared at the ceiling as Dorian started whimpering in his sleep, curling his body away from Bull’s in the bed. His heart tore at the sound and he was paralyzed with fear that touching Dorian would only make things worse.

_Dorian is afraid of Hissrad, not the Iron Bull._

\--

“That thing wrote out a lot of shopping lists,” Krem muttered, flipping through pages of one of Hissrad’s journals. “Maker’s balls! How many types of lotions does Dorian use?!”

Iron Bull kept the journals before they torched the cabin, not fully knowing what Hissrad was at that point and not willing to give up information that might shed light on the mystery. Now he kept the journals because he wanted to make sure that Hissrad wasn’t working with anyone. It was unlikely, but he wanted to stomp out any lingering traces of Hissrad. He asked Krem to look over them with him, there was something about the journals that made Iron Bull not want to be alone with them as he read them and he was thankful that Krem agreed. They sat in Bull’s old quarters, going over the stack of journals that were filled cover to cover.

Leaning back in his chair, Bull started to tick off the difference lotions Dorian used on his fingers. “One for his face, a couple different ones for his body, another for his hands, one for his feet, and this other one I _really_ like that he uses for his—”

“Ok, yeah, I really don’t want to know.”

So far all they found were lists of supplies written out in Common for food, furniture, different locations to keep Dorian at, locations to run away to, herbs and bottles for potions, books, medical supplies, and items that Hissrad thought Dorian would want after his reeducation. It was all terribly familiar to Bull, thinking about all the lists he wrote out, supplies he needed for his mercenary crew, items he needed shipped into Seheron, and lists of possible spies and enemies. 

Other journals held carefully thought out plans, detailing possible new lives for Hissrad and Dorian in Antiva, Rivain, and Nevarra. There were plans to move Dorian to other cabins in case the one he ended up using was compromised. There were even written out plans on how to carry out Dorian’s reeducation, which neither Bull nor Krem wanted to read. But there was nothing of substance, until Krem held one of the journals out to Bull.

“This one is all in Qunlat,” Krem frowned.

Taking the journal, Iron Bull saw that these were not lists or plans, but rather full entries recording the day’s events, and he started quickly skimming through the pages.

_—the clearing is remote enough and the cabin will work out nicely—_

_—still waiting until the opportunity is right. Killing the retainers isn’t an option, he will never forgive me for that—_

_—some struggle, but subdued quickly and without harm. There are no apparent negative effects from the magebane or the sedative—_

_—woke up briefly during the ride to the cabin, was confused and scared, but I was prepared for the situation. He is resting comfortably now—_

_—figured it out on his own, my clever boy, and he almost managed to leave the cabin without my noticing. He fights me beautifully, he’s so fiery—_

_—very nearly took him then and there, he’s almost too gorgeous to resist, but I held myself back. It will be well worth it when he offers himself to me—_

_—responding so well, I won’t need to resort to the control rod, but the mask might be worth keeping, he may like it or will learn to—_

_—called me amatus twice and Bull once today, seemed unaware of it—_

_—won’t be long now before he finally submits—_

_—will be mine again—_

Slamming the journal shut, Bull could hear the rush of blood in his ears and the raw rage he experienced after they found Dorian was building up in his chest again. He tossed the journal to the floor, unable to even touch it. The callous wonder that Hissrad experienced in Dorian’s torture shook Bull to his core, the unrestrained pride and joy at Dorian’s deteriorating mental state disturbed him greatly, and it was all to supplant Iron Bull in Dorian’s life. Hissrad wasn’t thinking of Dorian’s needs, only of his own.

Bull forced himself to remember that he didn’t write those words, despite the identical handwriting. He needed to remember that he didn’t kidnap and try to reeducate Dorian, that he would never do something like that. But the man who did wore Bull’s skin, spoke with his voice, was cut from the same cloth, and still descended into madness. If things had gone differently for Iron Bull, if he let the Chargers die, he would be the one writing those words and thinking those thoughts.

And was he so different from Hissrad? Hissrad who sought to not only to take Bull’s place, but also to assert control over Dorian’s very mind, was it so different from how Iron Bull sought control over Dorian in bed? He got off on Dorian, a powerful mage, submitting to him, letting him tie the mage up in delicious knots, and denying him his release until Bull was satisfied that Dorian had been good enough to earn it.

Bull reminded himself that it was what Dorian needed before, to let go of the tight cloak of pride and aloofness that shielded him and relinquish the control he held onto so desperately. Currently though, Dorian was stripped of all of his defenses and left open and vulnerable like an exposed nerve, all done by someone with Iron Bull’s cunning and intimate knowledge of Dorian. Iron Bull did this to him.

_“No, not you. Just a dark reflection, inside he was all wrong. Not you. Don’t let him consume you.”_ Cole’s voice whispered in Bull’s head.

“Chief?”

The sound of Krem’s voice sliced through Iron Bull’s thoughts and brought him back to the present. 

“He was writing about what he was doing to Dorian.”

“Shit,” Krem cursed. “How about we burn all of these?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”

Krem started a fire in the fireplace and they sat together, feeding the journals in one at a time and watching the flames consume them.

“We seem to be solving a lot of our problems with fire lately,” Krem observed as he tossed another one in.

Iron Bull could still smell the stench of the burning corpse after he and Krem returned from setting the cabin on fire and made their way back to camp. At some point, Dalish, Skinner, and Rocky went back to the corpse and decided to burn it. Not out of respect, but to eradicate any trace of the Qunari.

“It’s a good solution,” Bull grunted.

Dorian saw Iron Bull’s tension that night as they settled in for bed. His hands ran over the expanse of Bull’s chest and his fingers worked at the buckles of the leather harness Bull wore, Dorian liked to touch Iron Bull, but unexpected touches from Bull could set Dorian off. Bull kept his hands twisted in the sheets of the bed where he sat, letting Dorian undress him.

“What’s wrong, amatus?” Dorian asked, looking Bull in the eye as his palm brushed at the spot under Bull’s ribs.

“Krem and I were going over those journals I told you about.”

Dorian faltered for a moment, but regained his composure instantly. “And?”

“We ended up burning them.”

“It’s for the best, I suspect,” Dorian replied lightly.

“I think so too.” And that was the last they spoke of it.

The harness came off, then the eyepatch, and Dorian unlaced the front of Bull’s pants before sliding them off, leaving Bull in only his smalls when Dorian leaned in to kiss him. Dorian was balanced heavily on his good leg as his other leg was still healing, though more quickly now that he started taking the elfroot potions Stitches mixed for him. Iron Bull wanted to grab Dorian’s hips and help him balance, but he kept his hands where they were.

The kiss was a simple press of Dorian’s lips against his, then a questing tongue slid against Bull’s mouth and he followed Dorian’s lead. With some maneuvering, Dorian situated himself on Bull’s lap so they were face to face, his injured leg stretched out comfortably on the bed and the other hooked around Bull’s waist, and his arms around Bull’s shoulders. The buckles and sharp edges of Dorian’s robes dug into his bare skin, while the softness of the silk and velvet tickled his chest and stomach. Dorian grabbed his wrists and settled Bull’s hands on his waist, much to Iron Bull’s relief to be given permission to touch, even if it was through layers of clothing.

Dorian still didn’t wear his robes with the shoulder bared, but he did start wearing ones where the collar was left open displaying his throat and collarbone, and with shorter sleeves to show off the muscles of his forearms. The last time Bull saw Dorian naked was when they were traveling back to Skyhold, his body trembling as Bull helped Stitches change Dorian’s vomit and sweat drenched clothing towards the end of the worst of his withdrawals. Now he felt Dorian’s body through the robes and leggings, his lean arms, ribs that were too prominent, one leg strong and the other weakened from disuse, and the hardness of his arousal.

There was nothing hurried, Bull went at the pace Dorian set, accepting the slow, hungry kisses from his kadan and his hands squeezing at a too narrow waist as Dorian lazily rolled his hips against Bull’s. Within a few minutes those lazy rolls became a grind that left Dorian whining into Bull’s mouth. After being without Dorian for so long, Bull knew he could come just like this, with only the friction of his smallclothes on his cock and Dorian on his lap, but he didn’t so he could let Dorian take what he needed from his body.

Dorian pulled away enough to fumbling with the fastening with his pants and to whispered, “Take yourself out for me, amatus.”

Iron Bull didn’t need to be told twice and lowered his smalls just enough to free his erection. Dorian leaned back in, grasping both of their cocks together with only the moisture leaking from them to slick his grip. He buried his face into Bull’s shoulder as his free hand clung to Bull’s bicep, his muffled moans and cries filling the room.

Bull hardly noticed that he was saying, “Kadan, kadan, kadan,” over and over again into Dorian’s hair as he fought off the urge to come. He normally had much better handle of himself, but it had been too long and with Dorian taking the lead, he didn’t feel like he was in control of much of anything. The warmth and strength of Dorian’s hand along with the slickness and heat of Dorian’s cock rubbing along his own, and even just the scent, weight, and feel of Dorian was maddening, enough to take Bull over the edge. He wanted to tell Dorian to pump his hand faster, to slacken his grip just a bit, for the mage to take off his clothes, but he said none of those things and took what was given. 

The loud moan from Dorian into his shoulder and the splatter of Dorian’s release on his stomach was a relief. He bit back his groan as his orgasm tore through him, coating Dorian’s fingers and streaks of it landing on his stomach, chest, and on Dorian’s robes.

Dorian dropped a kiss onto Bull’s skin before he lifted his head up and gave Bull a smile. “Well, I certainly didn’t plan on that, but it was …”

“Hot,” Bull supplied.

Dorian chuckled, warmth in his laugh with little lines crinkling around his silver eyes and a sated sigh escaped from him when his laughter died off. His hair was a mess from Bull nuzzling it, his mustache was ruffled from the kissing, and drying semen stuck to his clothes. The sight made Bull’s chest tight in the best way possible.

Like usual, since they started sleeping in the same bed again, Iron Bull laid awake while Dorian dozed off. This time though, Dorian’s body remained still beyond the occasional twitch, his breathing was even, and not a single whimper or cry came from him. For most of the night, Bull listened to the quiet rasp of Dorian’s breaths and the few hours he slept were the most peaceful he had for nearly three months.

\--

He was there, under Iron Bull’s skin, hidden in the dark corners of his mind. Who would slay the beast if it broke through? Who would protect Dorian from it? Bull saw into Hissrad’s mind, his writing was a window into his insanity, and Bull could see himself in it all too clearly.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

_I’m not sure that you are,_ Iron Bull thought, even though he knew he’d tear out his own heart in an instant to protect Dorian, Krem, and everyone else from himself.

_Don’t let Hissrad win, the Iron Bull, Dorian didn’t._

\--

“This is more therapeutic than I remember it being.”

“You’re really not holding back this time, Cass.”

“Last time you made some comment about how women shouldn’t be warriors. I am simply proving you wrong.”

“That’s what the Qun says. I’m no longer under the Qun.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Cassandra smirked and hit Iron Bull across the stomach with a stick. 

Iron Bull grunted at the sharp slap of the wood against his skin, Cassandra wasn’t holding back like she did after he, Dorian, Sera, and Adaar fell into the Fade. This time though, Bull wasn’t working through a demon whispering about his deepest fears, he was still working through having seen his deepest fears come to life. Months after he took Hissrad’s head, the other Qunari was still a phantom that haunted Bull, stalking his every thought, and taunting Bull with what might have been or what could be.

Hissrad clung to Iron Bull like a shadow, whispering about what could have been and what may come to pass. Bull opened his mouth to ask Cassandra, to see if she’d be willing to do what others weren’t, but he was cut off.

“Maker, I’m not even going to ask what prompted this,” Dorian sighed dramatically, smiling wryly at the pair as he approached them where they stood by Cassandra’s old training dummies.

Cassandra lowered the stick and held it out to Dorian. “Would you like a go at it?”

“I normally keep those kinds of activities to the bedroom,” Dorian sniffed. “Amatus, you truly have no manners, poor Cassandra has been at Skyhold for just over an hour and you already have her beating you silly.”

“She was more than happy to help, especially since you convinced Adaar to stop doing this with me,” Iron Bull rolled his eye.

“Only because poor Krem threw out his back while smacking you around!” Dorian protested.

“That being said, I will excuse myself. I could do with a short rest before Josephine claims most of my time. I will see you two at dinner tonight,” Cassandra said, putting down the stick and clasping Dorian’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Dorian, you are looking well.”

“Well? I do believe you mean that I look like perfection.”

Cassandra snorted. “I’m glad some things never change.”

Dorian stepped close to Bull after Cassandra left, his hand brushed the heated and tender skin of Iron Bull’s stomach. Bull sucked in a sharp breath, his flesh stung, but there was a certain pleasure to Dorian’s touch.

“Does it hurt?”

“Stings like shit, but I don’t mind you touching.”

Dorian laughed, his laughs coming easier by the day. “Perhaps later tonight,” he took a step back in a teasing way, his eyes dark with promise.

There was a sense of normalcy in Dorian that Iron Bull was cautiously happy to see. He knew not to get overly excited, that while Dorian’s leg was stronger and all that was left of the cuts and scrapes on his feet were small scars, the mind took much longer to heal. Bull knew that he was still working through things himself, the bruises forming on his torso was evidence enough of that.

That night they dined in Adaar’s quarters, providing privacy for their small party to welcome Cassandra back to Skyhold. She came with some sensitive information to pass onto Adaar, probably about Solas, Bull suspected, and brought news from Divine Victoria. The dining party consisted of Adaar, Cassandra and those in Adaar’s inner circle that were still at Skyhold, Cullen, Josephine, Sera, Dorian, Iron Bull, and Cole.

Cassandra told them of what was going on in Val Royeaux, about Leliana adjusting to the role of the Divine and her run ins with Vivienne, and Adaar filled her in on her most recent letters from Varric, who recently became viscount of Kirkwall, and Thom Rainier, who was seeking out the men of his old unit and trying to make amends. The Seeker was the center of attention, much to her own displeasure, though the wine loosened her up enough to actually enjoy herself. While everyone else was catching up with Cassandra, Iron Bull kept his eye on Dorian.

Flushed from drinking, though not drunk by a long shot, Dorian was animated and sharp, engaging with the party and happily teasing Cassandra. His quips came naturally, his smirk was unforced, and his knee pressed against Bull’s as the soft leather of his boot rubbed against Bull’s leg. The only thing off was that half his plate was untouched, the roasted ram was completely uneaten, or at least it was until Sera claimed it for herself. The next time the platter of butter slathered vegetables came around, Bull dumped a healthy scoop on Dorian’s plate along with a large chunk of bread, earning him a brief glare, but Dorian ate it without comment. 

The dinner could have been almost any night in Skyhold when the world was still peril and the fancy struck Adaar to host a private dinner in her quarters for her inner circle. Iron Bull couldn’t count the times he sat at that table at Dorian’s side with some number of their allies, drinking, eating, and forgetting for a bit that the world was in chaos. He remembered Vivienne sharply reminding him which fork to use, the hearty way Rainier laughed, Solas’s small smile over his glass of wine, Sera perched on Adaar’s lap, Cole’s wide eyed wonder, Cassandra’s snorts of laughter, Varric’s outrageous stories, and Dorian’s eyes on him as his hand rested on the inside of Bull’s thigh.

It was oddly nostalgic, despite the crazy blighted Magister that threatened them all at the time.

As the evening wound down and many headed to the tavern for drinks, Dorian had his fill of company and excused himself to retire for the evening, throwing a look at Iron Bull. Taking the hint, Bull excused himself as well and made plans with Cassandra to spar in the morning before he followed Dorian back up to their room.

The coyness of Dorian’s smile and the darkness of his eyes told Bull what kind of night it would be and he couldn’t help but feel excited. While kissing and hand jobs happened on a more regular basis, other forms of sex were infrequent. Bull didn’t need it, all he needed was for Dorian to feel safe and happy, but he did miss that form of intimacy with his kadan.

The moment the door to their room was closed and locked, Dorian’s smile widened and he busied his hands with stripping off Bull’s clothes, not that it took long. Even with the winter settling in, Bull didn’t wear shirt. He didn’t dare to when Dorian’s eyes still looked over at the spot under Bull’s ribs that lacked Hissrad’s scar. Once Iron Bull was naked, Dorian lightly shoved him towards the bed and Bull knew what to do. Stretched out on his back, Bull spread his legs a bit and got comfortable as he watched Dorian slowly peel off the layers of his robes.

Iron Bull never got tired of seeing Dorian’s body and felt privileged that Dorian wanted to show it off to him again. His skin was as perfect as ever, a shade lighter from a lack of sun and months spent in long sleeves. The angles of his torso and hips were still too sharp, but were slowly filling in again with muscle and fat. 

Dorian let himself be admired before crawling onto the bed and straddling Bull’s waist, then leaning down to kiss him. “Touch me,” Dorian ordered in a murmur and Bull’s hands were automatically on his kadan, roaming over smooth skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, gripping strong thighs, and finally settling on Dorian’s ass, digging his fingers in and making Dorian moan.

As Dorian’s cock filled out and dragged against Iron Bull’s, his mind began to race with possibilities of what Dorian might want to do that night. Last time Dorian fucked him with slow thrusts for what felt like hours. Bull was on his back as he watched Dorian’s eyes closed as he got close, his hand on Bull’s erection and stroking it faster as his thrusts became more erratic. Bull had tried to hold back his orgasm until Dorian finished, but he came apart when Dorian’s thumb brushed the head of his cock in just the right way, the angle of his own cock inside of Bull was perfect, and Dorian whispered heatedly, “I want to feel you come around me, amatus.”

He hoped Dorian might use him like that again.

But instead Dorian pressed a little bottle of oil into Bull’s hand and he knew they were changing things up that night, not that he was disappointed, far from it. Slicking a couple fingers, Bull pressed one into Dorian after he was ordered to do so, watching as his kadan closed his eyes and his mouth slackened as he rocked back onto the digit. 

“Look at you, so beautiful when I touch you, kadan,” Iron Bull praised as he pushed in another finger.

Dorian cracked open his eyes, a grin spreading on his face. “Get me nice and loose, amatus, I’m going to ride you.”

Even as much as Bull worked Dorian open, the mage was still tight as he sank down onto Bull’s hardness. This was different from what they used to do in the past as Iron Bull didn’t do any conquering. Not with him lying on the bed, his hands gripping the pillow under his head and Dorian on top of him, taking his sweet time moving up and down on Bull’s erection. That was not to say that Dorian never rode him before, but Bull was usually a more active participant.

The Iron Bull chose his name because he liked that it made him sound like a mindless weapon of destruction, which worked for him. Now, with Dorian on top of him, he felt like a mindless instrument for Dorian’s pleasure and that _really_ worked for him. He nearly came at that thought, but he held himself together and concentrated on just Dorian, on the beautiful man riding him, his hard cock bobbing untouched in front of Bull, and the expression of bliss on his face.

Dorian’s hands dug into his hips, his arms and legs moving to fuck himself harder on Bull, his breath coming out in short pants. “Amatus,” he rasped, “amatus, I need you to stroke me.”

Bull moved his hands at Dorian’s bidding, one settled on Dorian’s waist and the other grasped his erection. Dorian threw his head back, letting out a breathy groan, and his hips moved faster. Bull was close, so close, but he was there for Dorian, only Dorian’s pleasure mattered at that moment, not his own. Whatever Dorian wanted him to do and whatever he wanted from Bull was his to take as he desired. 

Even when ropes of warm come hit Bull’s chest and stomach, even as Dorian clenched deliciously around him, Bull didn’t let go. Not until Dorian touched his face and said, “Bull, amatus, I want you to come.”

His orgasm rocked through him on Dorian’s command, whiting out his vision for a couple of seconds and his limbs became boneless. He was barely aware as Dorian eased off of him and settled at his side.

“Are you ok, amatus? You look a little out of it,” Dorian stroked his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m real good,” Bull huffed out a pleased laugh. “Next time, you should tie me down.” Dorian tensed and Bull quickly added, “With the silk scarves.”

Dorian relaxed and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You want that?”

“I like it when you’re in charge.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised, then got up to grab the soft flannel from the wash basin, warming the water before dipping in the cloth and bringing it over to clean Bull off. He went through all the motions Iron Bull used to go through after sex, gently wiping away the semen, sweat, and oil clinging to Bull, rubbing the cramped muscles of Bull’s legs, and even kissing the spots where his nails left angry marks in gray skin. Even though Bull liked doing the aftercare, Dorian needed to do it. 

Dorian needed the control and Iron Bull needed to be controlled.

\--

Dorian mumbled in his sleep followed by a small whimper and a frown tugging at his lips. Bull was still awake and gathered Dorian into his arms, rubbing his back soothingly through the thin cotton robe Dorian wore, mumbling, “It’s ok, kadan, he’s dead, he’s dead, I killed him for you.” The mage relaxed in his arms, burying his face in Bull’s chest with a relieved sigh, not once waking up.

Iron Bull closed his eye, even though he wasn’t anywhere close to falling asleep.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

But Iron Bull knew that the potential lurked inside of him. Hissrad lived through him.

_Only if you let him consume you, the Iron Bull._

\--

“The Inquisitor told me everything, such a dreadful situation,” Vivienne said as she poured Iron Bull a cup of tea and handed it to him. “Had the story not come from Adaar herself, I would have never believed it, though I should hardly be so shocked considering the volatile magic that Tevinter Magister was engaged in. Tell me, darling, how is our dear Lord Dorian’s recovery going?”

It was a relief to see Vivienne. Her visit to Skyhold was unexpected since it was still winter and travel up into the Frostbacks was difficult, but it seemed that it was the soonest she could leave the Orlesian court. Iron Bull was touched, her duties with the court of course took priority, but she cared enough to come at all, though he was sure that she other pressing business with the Inquisition. She reclaimed her space once she arrived and wasted no time in summoning Bull for tea, demanding Bull’s presence before she even dined with Adaar.

“Dorian’s doing better, ma’am. He’s regained most of the weight he lost, sleeps a lot better, his leg’s all healed up, and he’s started doing some of his ambassador work again.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, what about you, my dear? How have you been doing?”

Iron Bull opened his mouth, but was quickly cut off.

“And do tell me the truth, Iron Bull, not whatever it is that you tell the Inquisitor and your darling Dorian.”

Bull’s mouth clicked shut and he took a few moments before answering. “It’s been difficult. Dorian’s recovery was slow and he understandably wasn’t able to be around me much to begin with, but I’m happier now that he’s on the mend.”

“Of course you are, darling, but it cannot be easy knowing that the man who did this to Dorian was essentially you.”

Vivienne was never one to softened the blow and her words were almost as damaging as her magic. It was why he liked her, because she didn’t mince her words and didn’t try to soothe him with pretty lies and half-truths.

“No, it’s not, ma’am,” Bull admitted into his tea cup.

“Who is supporting you through this, darling?”

“Krem, mostly, and the rest of the Chargers, too. Adaar, Sera, and Cullen have been helpful, but they’ve got their duties and they’ve also been helping out Dorian. And everyone’s been reminding me that I wasn’t the one who kidnapped Dorian.”

“Your lieutenant is a good man, I’m happy to hear that he has been at your side, but you must not be made complacent by his and everyone else’s words and know that the potential is within you. You are a man of both great physical strength and intelligence, a dangerous combination if it goes unchecked.”

Bull swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good, I’m glad you understand. So let what happened be a reminder to you of the price of losing control and let it strengthen your resolve to do better,” Vivienne said firmly. “Use this knowledge to better equip yourself to protect yourself and your Tevinter paramour.”

“What if I still go mad?”

“You will know the consequences and you will know what course of actions to take,” she answered with an air of finality. “If you are unable to take the appropriate actions yourself, and I very much doubt that Dorian, the poor gentle creature he is, would stop you, do know that you have allies who will. I would think of it as a kindness to show you no mercy.”

And like that, a weight was lifted off of Iron Bull’s shoulders and Hissrad’s shadow seemed much less mensing, less powerful. She was right, he also doubted Dorian’s ability to stop him if need be and the fact that Hissrad survived in his own world was proof of that, but he was put at ease by the fact that Vivienne wouldn’t blink twice before killing him.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it, my dear,” her usual calculating smile was tempered by a touch of softness, but not for long as she freshened up their cups of tea and changed the topic. “Now, let us speak of other business, I have a job that requires your Chargers, darling.”

Bull listened to her proposal and told her that he’d have Krem follow up with her. The job would require the Chargers to go to Val Royeaux in a couple of months and Bull wasn’t ready to commit to it himself, not when it would take him so far away from Dorian.

Vivienne smiled knowingly at him, with a touch of condescension. “I completely understand, darling, I am sure your second will do a more than adequate job. We’ll dine with him later this week to go over the details.” Vivienne dismissed him soon afterwards, having other meetings to attend to, but added, “Do remember to write to me in the future, my dear, I expect to hear from you on a regular basis.”

He knew it wasn’t a request and confirmed that he would follow her order.

Iron Bull made his way towards the tavern and Cole walked at his side, staring at Bull with curious eyes. “She’s hard and unyielding, strength that you crave, that you take comfort in. You’re happy that she would kill you.”

“I am,” Bull answered, “but she’ll only do it if I go mad.”

Cole took his words into consideration and replied slowly, “I would kill you, the Iron Bull, if it meant stopping Hissrad from hurting Dorian.”

“Thanks, Cole, I appreciate that.”

“You really do.”

Dorian noticed the change in Iron Bull’s demeanor as they took a light dinner in their room that evening. Dorian was noticeably tired from entertaining the group of Orlesian nobles that came with Vivienne and they decided to avoid the crowded dining hall that evening.

“How was your tea with Vivienne, amatus?”

“It was good, kadan, we had a good talk.”

“Well, whatever you and Vivienne spoke about seems to have put you in a sunny mood,” Dorian observed, picking at his roasted druffalo. “Hard to imagine that she could cheer anyone up though, what did she say to you?”

“She promised to kill me if I go mad,” Iron Bull replied casually.

Dorian paused and blinked at Bull. “Well, that’s … For Maker’s sake, Bull, why would she say that!?”

“Because I wanted her to.”

Dorian got up from his seat with a rough shove of his chair and moved towards the window, spitting out, “I can hardly imagine why you’d want to hear that.”

Bull got up as well, standing close to Dorian and slowly cupped the bare shoulder peeking out from the robes he was wearing. Automatically, Dorian leaned back into Bull, his head resting against Bull’s broad shoulder and not once flinching at Bull’s unannounced touch. He was to the point where he welcomed Bull’s unexpected touches and could sleep through the night without nightmares, small steps towards recovery that they both took comfort in.

“I’m not fond of the idea of my amatus running around and asking people to kill him,” Dorian elaborated, his darkened eyes staring out the window.

“I need this, kadan,” Bull confessed. “I need to know that someone will kill me if I go insane, to protect you and everyone else from me.”

“Amatus—”

“I need this to move on.”

Dorian fell silent for a few moments and his body slumped. The way his face twisted up, Bull knew that Dorian wanted to protest and to say the sweet things that everyone said to Bull.

_You won’t go mad._

_You’d never do that to Dorian._

_This will never happen._

_It wasn’t you._

But instead, Dorian took a deep breath and said, “Ok. Ok, if this is what you need, but I don’t think I can hear much more of it, it’s not a thought I like to entertain. I … I always forget that Hissrad made you a victim too. Selfish of me not to think of you, though we should hardly be surprised.”

Hearing the self-loathing in Dorian’s voice very nearly broke Iron Bull’s heart. “There’s no comparison, kadan, what I’ve gone through is nothing to what he did to you. You needed the time to yourself to recover and I needed you to have that time. The shit that I’m going through, well, I got what I needed and it’s something I could have never asked you.”

“Still, I should have—”

“No,” Bull interrupted him. “You’re doing what you need to do to heal and that’s all I need from you. Having you here, unafraid of me, letting me touch you, this … it keeps me sane, kadan, and it reminds me that I’m not him, that I’m the Iron fucking Bull.”

Dorian snorted with humor and retorted, “Well, I can’t have you forgetting that, now can I?” 

Dorian’s lips curled up into a smile and he turned, standing chest to chest with Iron Bull and tipped his face up to brush his lips against Bull’s. Iron Bull gripped Dorian’s shoulders and his kadan was strong and beautiful under his hands, his strength kept Bull grounded and kept him in constant awe of Dorian. Even when he was stripped of his defenses and left with only his wits, Dorian was able to survive, was able to escape and save himself while Bull and his men were floundering about in the woods. 

And that gave Iron Bull just as much comfort as Vivienne’s promise to kill him. He could move forward.

\--

Iron Bull stared at the ceiling with Dorian curled up at his side, his head pillowed on Bull’s shoulder and snoring softly. Dorian’s body was naked and warm along Bull’s flank, though his toes managed to be cold and were pressed against Bull’s leg to steal the warmth from his limb. His face was slack with sleep, peaceful and vulnerable. The way that Dorian slept unguarded with Iron Bull made it seem like any other night he spent with Dorian, before anything happened.

_“Who are you?”_

_“Dead.”_

_Stay that way._ Bull closed his eye and relaxed, letting Dorian’s even breathing lull him into sleep.

_He will, because you are the Iron Bull._

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came from fics where Dorian time travels and I wanted to write one where bad-ending Hissrad time travels. Well, this is what happened... :)


End file.
